mi    \  \i:i:<.'..    i  >•  APE. 


THE 


WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


uf  tyt  Enrtai  SSmratoraa. 


E.  M.  BALLANTYNE, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  RED  BRIO,"  ETC. 


BOSTON: 

CROSBY    &    AINSWORTH. 
NEW  YOKE:   OLIVER  S.  FELT. 

1866. 


•35* 
T>I63 

to  it 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PAGE 

In  which  the  Reader  is  introduced  to  a  Mad  Hero,  a  Reckless 
Lover,  and  a  Runaway  Husband.  —  Backwoods  Juvenile 
Training  described.  —  The  Principles  of  Fighting  fully  dis- 
cussed, and  some  valuable  Hints  thrown  out ....  9 


CHAPTER   II. 

The  Great  Prairie.  —  A  Wild  Chase.  —  A  Remarkable  Accident 
and  an  Extraordinary  Charger,  all  of  which  tenninate  in  a 
Crash.  —  Bounce  talks  Philosophy  and  tells  of  terrible  Things. 
—  Our  Hero  determines  to  beard  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West 
in  his  own  Den 21 

CHAPTER    III. 

The  Beauties  of  the  Wilderness.  —  Portages.  —  Philosophy  of 
Settling  Down.  —  An  Enormous  Footprint.  —  Supper  pro- 
cured, and  a  Bear-hunt  in  prospect 42 

CHAPTER   IV. 

Gibault  has  an  Adventure,  and  discovers  a  very  strange  Crea- 
ture in  the  Woods.  —  A  most  tremendous  Bear-hunt  par- 
ticularly described 59 

M99752  <»> 


iv  CON 

CHAPTER    V. 

Remarks  and  Cogitations.  —  Round  the  Camp  Fire.  —  The 
Artist  gives  an  Accent  01                    -Value  of  a  Sk. 
Book.  —  Discoveries  and  Dark  Threat*.  —  The  Bean'-claw 
Collar 

C  I!  AFTER    VI. 

The  Dangers  of  the  Wilderness.  —An  Unexpected  Catastrophe, 
which  necessitates-  a  Change  of  Plans.  —  A  Descent  upon 
Robbers  proposed  and  agreed  to 98 

CHAI  II. 

A  Wolfish  Way  of  killing  Buffalo  described.  —  Bounce  becomes 
Metaphysical  on  the  Fine  Arts.  —  Butchering  enlarged  on.  — 
A  glorious  Feast,  and  sketching  under  Difficulties  .  .  .110 

A  Cache  discovered.  —  Bertram  becomes  ralorous.  —  Failure 
follows,  and  a  brief  Skirmish,  Flight,  and  Separation  are  the 
Results 136 

IX. 

Bounce  cogitates  upon  the  embarrassing  Circumstances  ot 
Condition.  —  Discovery  of  Black  Gibault  —  Terrible  Fate  in 
Store  for  their  Comrades.  —  A  Mode  of  Rescue  planned.  — 
Dreadful  Effects  of  Fire-water.  —  The  Rescue 

CH 
Short  Treatise  on  Horseflesh.  —  Remarks  on  Slang.  —  Doings 

and  Sights  on  tin  .        .  176 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Original  Efforts  in  the  Art  of  Painting.  —  Fur-trading  Hospital- 
ity. —  Wonderful  Accounts  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West, 
from  an  Eye-witness.  —  Buffalo-hunting,  Scalping,  Murder- 
ing, and  a  Summary  Method  of  inflicting  Punishment .  .  191 


CHAPTER   XII. 

An  Argument  on  Argumentation;  also  on  Religion.— Bounce 
" feelosophical"  again. —  A  Race  cut  short  by  a  Bullet.— 
Flight  and  Pursuit  of  the  Redskins 209 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Pursuit.  —  Conscientious  Scruples  of  the  Artist.  —  Stra- 
tegic Movements.  —  Surprised  in  the  Wild-cat  Pass.  — March 
shows  Coolness  and  Pluck  in  the  Hour  of  Danger.  —  A  Ter- 
rific Onslaught  by  a  Wonderful  Warrior.  — The  Battle.— 
Hard  Knocks  and  Mysterious  Differences  of  Opinion  .  .  224 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

The  Hunting-ground.  —  How  they  spent  the  Sabbath  Day 
among  the  Mountains.  —  Threatening  Clouds  on  the  Hori- 
zon   251 


CHAPTER   XV. 

Business  unpleasantly  Interrupted.  —  The  Mountain  Fort  in 
Danger.  —  Trappers  to  the  Rescue. — A  Rude  Meeting  with 
Foes  in  the  Dark.  — A  Wild  Race.  — March  meets  with  a 
Severe  Misfortune 260 


VI  CO.1* 

CHA  r  -i. 

March  get*  a  Surprise;  more  than  that,  he  get*  a  Variety  of 
Surprises.  — Meets  with  a  Strange  Hunter.  — Goes  in  a 
Strange  Fashion  to  a  Strange  Cavern  and  beholds  Strange 
Sights.  —  Besides  other  Matters  of  Interest  .  .  .  .  268 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
The  Vision  in  Leather 38* 

rii  A  PTXB   XVIII. 

The  Cave  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  — March  and  Mary 
hold  Pleasant  Intercourse.  —  Dick's  Good  Qualities  enlarged 
on.  —  The  Wild  Man  gives  a  Redskin  a  Strange  Lesson.  -  A 
Startling  Interruption  to  Pleasant  Convene  .  .  .  .  99T 

CH 

The  Mysteries  of  the  Cave  <  -  Ingenious  Devices  of 

the  Wild  Man.  — March  and  Mary  besieged.  —  The  Redskins 
proceed  to  make  themselves  at  Home  in  the  Cavern       .       .  88B 

CHAPTER   XX. 

A  Gallop  to  the  Rescue.  — A  Discovery.  —  Right-about  Face. 
—  A  Disagreeable  Surprise  and  a  Sudden  Eje<  ilm 

after  the  Storm.  —  Mary  a  Huntress.  —  Dick's  Story  of  the 

i  rapper  .........  .135 

CHAPTER   XXI. 

March  -,jrit,   finds  his  Body  weak.  —  He 

makes  Mary  a  Present.  —  The  Trappers  set  out  to  search  for 


CONTENTS.  vil 

their  Lost  Comrade.  —  An  Unexpected  Meeting.  —  Big  Wal- 
ler waxes  Pugnacious.  —  News  of  March.  —  Dick  becomes 
more  Mysterious  than  ever.  —  A  Reckless  Proposal  and  a 
Happy  Meeting  .  355 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

March  Marston  is  perplexed,  so  are  his  Friends.  —  An  unlooked- 
for  Meeting.  —  Terrible  News. -—The  Attack. —  The  Wild 
Man  of  the  West  once  again  renders  signal  Service  to  the 
Trappers.  —  Wild  Doings  in  general,  and  March  Marston's 
Chagrin  in  particular 371 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
The  Wounded  Fur-Trader 384 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

March  Marston  at  Home.  —  His  astonishing  Behavior.  —  Nar- 
ration of  his  Extraordinary  Adventures.  —  Widow  Marston's 
Bower.  —  The  Rendezvous  of  the  Trappers.  —  A  strange  In- 
terruption to  March's  Narrative.  —  A  Wild  Surprise  and 
Recovery  of  a  Lost  Lover.  —  Great  Destruction  of  House- 
hold Goods.  —  A  Double  Wedding  and  Tremendous  Excite- 
ment. —  The  Wild  Man  of  the  West  the  Wisest  Man  in  Pine 
Point  Settlement 399 


WILD   MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


CHAPTER   I. 

In  which  the  Reader  is  introduced  to  a  Mad  Hero,  a  Reckless  Lover, 
and  a  Runaway  Husband.  —  Backwoods  Juvenile  Training  de- 
scribed. —  The  Principles  of  Fighting  fully  discussed,  and  some 
valuable  Hints  thrown  out. 

MARCH  MARSTON  was  mad !  The  exact  state 
of  madness  to  which  March  had  attained  at  the 
age  when  we  take  up  his  personal  history  — 
namely,  sixteen  —  is  uncertain,  for  the  people  of 
the  backwoods  settlement  in  which  he  dwelt  dif- 
fered in  their  opinions  on  that  point. 

The  clergyman,  who  was  a  Wesleyan,  said  he 
was  as  wild  as  a  young  buffalo-bull ;  but  the 
manner  in  which  he  said  so  led  his  hearers  to 
conclude  that  he  did  not  think  such  a  state  of 
ungovernable  madness  to  be  a  hopeless  condition, 
by  any  means.  The  doctor  said  he  was  as  mad 
as  a  hatter ;  but  this  was  an  indefinite  remark, 
worthy  of  a  doctor  who  had  never  obtained  a 
diploma,  and  required  explanation,  inasmuch  as 

(  9  ; 


10 

it  was  b 

•:•    and    1«- 


irrpjly  bear  \viih  a  \vl, 

true,  might  tend  to 

throw  liirht  on   the  ii   the  ir 

bear  is  liah!  aieh  failed  to  in<: 

,  tin-  extent  of  young 

iadness.    The  car;  id  the  blaek- 

:'  the  |>laee  —  who  were  fast  friends  ami 

d  ba'tle  only  once  a  month,  or  t 
at  most  —  agreed  in  das 

one  as?< 

of    the 

in-r, 

and 

.  in  ihe  \r~ide 

ng! 
ison   wi 

in  was.  ' 

all  manner-,  to  l>i  r  to 

[£  in   son 

I'T. 

not  a  fence  in  the  \v! 

Uopj 

or  i 

it. 


YOUNG  MARSTON'S  MOTHER.  11 

miles  from  the  top  of  which  he  had  not  fallen. 
There  was  not  a  pond  or  pool  in  the  neighbor- 
hood into  which  he  had  not  soused  at  some 
period  of  his  stormy  juvenile  career,  and  there 
was  not  a  big  boy  whom  he  had  not  fought 
and  thrashed  —  or  been  thrashed  by  —  scores  of 
times. 

But  for  all  this  March  had  not  a  single  enemy. 
He  did  his  companions  many  a  kind  turn  ;  never 
an  unkind  one.  He  fought  for  love,  not  for 
hatred.  He  loved  a  dog  —  if  any  one  kicked  it, 
he  fought  him.  He  loved  a  little  boy  —  if  any 
one  was  cruel  to  that  little  boy,  he  fought  him. 
He  loved  fair  play  —  if  any_one  was  guilty  of 
foul  play,  he  fought  him.  When  he  was  guilty 
of  foul  play  himself  (as  was  sometimes  the  case, 
for  who  is  perfect  ?)  he  felt  inclined  to  jump  out 
of  his  own  body  and  turn  about  and  thrash  him- 
self!  And  he  would  have  done  so  often,  had  it 
been  practicable.  Yes,  there  is  no  doubt  what- 
ever about  it,  March  Marston  was  mad  —  as  mad, 
after  a  fashion,  as  any  creature,  human  or  other- 
wise, you  choose  to  name. 

Young  Marston's  mother  was  a  handsome, 
stout,  blue-eyed,  flaxen-haired  woman,  of  a  little 
over  thirty-five  summers.  She  was  an  English 
emigrant,  and  had,  seventeen  years  before  the 
time  we  write  of,  settled  at  Pine  Point,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Yellowstone  River,  along  with  her 
brother,  the  blacksmith  above  referred  to.  At 


WILL    .V 

ii  in  all  the 
ige,  and  now  she 

ihr  bloom  of  her  youth  r  ;  on  her 

cheek-  >o  little  impaired 

•11    by   I  for  March   Mansion's   elder 

the   place  called  h- 
\vido\v  Marston;  but  she  was  not  a  widow  — 

.ey  had  a  round  for  saying  that  she 

-   as   they  In  verting  that  her  son  was 

.  Marston  was  peculiarly  eircum- 
-  not  a  widow. 

I  with  her 
-oon  told.      Immediately  after 

tli  and  his  pretty  sister  at 
i^r  strip- 
ling t  a  year 
self,  fell  deeply   in    love  \Vest  — 

'•  case  was  des|>< •-:  «       11     sank  at  o 

W)  d 

sea   lead,   !: 
reach  him. 

•>uirh  ji 

ady  a  tall,  strong,  hat 
1    by    his   iir- 
Bu: 

her  I  iiieh   Ian 

of  a  ;ine  and  a  western  rifl 

was  taken  aback  and  fla  n.      I 

re-brained  and   passionate.     He  told 


MARY   WEST   AND   HER   LOVERS.  13 

he  would  give  her  one  day  and  a  night  to  think 
of  it.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  came  back 
and  was  again  refused,  for  Mary  West  had  no 
notion  of  being  taken  by  storm  in  that  fashion. 
But  she  trembled  and  grew  pale  on  observing 
the  storm  of  angry  passion  that  gleamed  from 
the  young  trapper's  eyes  and  caused  his  broad 
chest  to  heave  violently.  He  did  not  speak. 
He  did  not  even  look  at  Mary  —  had  he  done 
so,  years  of  sorrow  and  suffering  might  have 
been  spared  them  both!  He  stood  for  one 
moment  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground  — 
then  he  turned,  sprang  through  the  doorway, 
vaulted  on  his  horse,  and  went  off  from  her  cot- 
tage door  as  an  arrow  leaps  from  a  bow.  The 
fences  and  ditches  that  lay  in  his  way  were  no 
impediment.  His  powerful  steed  carried  him 
over  all  and  into  the  forest  beyond,  where  he  was 
quickly  lost  to  view.  Mary  tried  to  resume  her 
household  occupations  with  a  sigh.  She  did  not 
believe  he  was  gone.  But  he  was ! 

At  first  Mary  was  nettled ;  then  she  grew  sad  ; 
as  weeks  passed  away  she  became  nettled  again, 
and  at  this  juncture  another  suitor  appeared  in 
the  shape  of  a  young  immigrant  farmer,  whose 
good  looks  and  insinuating  address  soothed  her 
irritation  at  the  strange,  abrupt  conduct  of  her 
lover.  She  began  to  think  that  she  must  have 
been  mistaken  in  supposing  that  she  cared  for 
the  wild  trapper  —  and,  in  order  to  prove  the 


11 

cor,  of  her  supjx 

Alas!   poor  M;ir.  in*r  error 

Marston    turned   out    a    ; 

first  he  did  not   come  out  in  his  true  colors.     A 
s   bom,  and   he    U  him 

Mareh,   lor   .  :     than    that    he    \ 

born  in  the  month  so  nai 

ind  at  last  came  to  congr  ier- 

thai    the   child   had  hern  bom  in 

!    or    O<  r    any   i«  nth 

r  a  (liri-tian   name.     A 

d    at    la  d  a 

ii-law.  t!i 

:vinir  beaten  |)oo  ,vith  a  >t 

'I'll  things  to  a  climax, 

he  \ 

was  going  < 
a    cargo   of 

>a\v  him    again.       I 
We  by    her 

ler  1: 

e  she  recovered  the  bi 

Uni'  1  h»T  to  1; 

0  the  training  of  her 
littl 

recovered  hei  and  her  i 

many  a  fine  young  ,Lrht   h-  md 


MARCH   MANSION'S   MADNESS.  15 

hand,  assuring  her  that  she  was  a  widow  —  that 
she  must  be  a  widow,  that  no  man  in  his  senses 
could  remain  so  long  away  from  such  a  wife 
unless  he  were  dead,  —  she  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
them  all. 

March  Marston's  infancy  was  spent  in  yelling 
and  kicking,  with  the  exception  of  those  preter- 
naturally  calm  periods  when  he  was  employed 
in  eating  and  sleeping.  As  he  grew  older,  the 
kicking  and  yelling  decreased,  the  eating  in- 
creased, and  the  sleeping  continued  pretty  much 
the  same.  Then  came  a  period  when  he  began 
to  learn  his  A,  B,  C.  Mrs.  Marston  had  been 
well  educated  for  her  station  in  life.  She  had 
read  much,  and  had  brought  a  number  of  books 
to  the  backwoods  settlement ;  so  she  gave  her 
boy  a  pretty  good  education  —  as  education  went 
in  those  days,  —  and  certainly  a  much  better 
one  than  was  given  to  boys  in  such  out-of-the- 
way  regions.  She  taught  him  to  read  and 
write,  and  carried  him  on  in  arithmetic  as  far 
as  compound  division,  where  she  stuck,  having 
reached  the  extreme  limits  of  her  own  tether. 

Contemporaneously  with  the  cessation  of 
squalling  and  kicking,  and  the  acquirement  of 
the  A,  B,  C,  there  arose  in  little  March's  bosom 
unutterable  love  for  his  mother;  or,  rather,  the 
love  that  had  always  dwelt  there  began  to  well 
up  powerfully,  and  to  overflow  in  copious'  streams 
of  obedience  and  considerate  attention.  About 


WILD   MAN   0;  .B8T. 

tin-  ."as 

tH'iran   to   develop   itself 

. 

hut  vrry  few  of  his  d.-rds  were  regarded   by  her 
in    the    liirlit    of  fanbs.      'l'uinl)liiiLr  otl"  trrrs  i 

ditches  and   liors-  \vas 

ing   wa^. 

<i   son    s- 
. 

fell  lit    :md 

shin  rt  hiiiui)Ic,  (i 

u  \\       .  h  iv- 

:it    \\hci, 

:iil«'d    tc  Ulld    little 

-cd,  pir 

'Make  01 

0    liirht    in   dr- 

iplesa." 

;o  hrii^h  i-n  at   ihr  ui, 


PRINCIPLES    OF   FIGHTING.  17 

this  catechizing  of  its  mother,  and  went  on  to 
say  — 

"  Well,  mother,  why  do  you  blame  me  for 
fightin',  then,  if  it's  right  ?  " 

"  Because  fighting  is  not  always  right,  my  boy. 
You  had  a  fight  with  Bill  Summers,  hadn't  you, 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother." 

Two-feet-ten  said  this  in  a  hesitating  tone,  and 
shrank  into  its  ordinary  proportions  as  it  con- 
tinued — 

"  But  I  didn't  lick  him,  mother,  he  licked  me. 
But  I'll  try  again,  mother  —  indeed  I  will,  and 
I'll  be  sure  to  lick  him  next  time." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  try  again,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Marston ;  "  and  you  must  not  try  again  with- 
out a  good  reason.  Why  did  you  fight  him 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  Because  he  told  a  lie,"  said  the  object, 
promptly,  swelling  out  again,  and  looking  big 
under  the  impression  that  the  goodness  of  its 
reason  could  not  be  questioned.  It  was,  there- 
fore, with  a  look  of  baffled  surprise  that  it  col- 
lapsed again  on  being  told  that  that  was  not  a 
sufficient  reason  for  engaging  in  warfare,  and  that 
it  was  wrong  to  take  the  law  into  its  own  hands, 
or  to  put  in  its  word  or  its  little  fist,  where  it 
had  no  right  to  interfere, — and  a  great  deal  more 
to  that  effect. 

"  But   March,  my  boy,"    said    Mrs.   Marston, 


18 

drawing  the  object  towards  her  and  p;r 

fair  head,  "  What  makes  you  so  1 
hting?" 
M  I  ainM   fond  <•'  liirlu ing,  mother,  but  I 

help 

.n't  help  it!      Do  YOU  evrr  tr> 
-I—I  —  iio,!   don't*  think    th;itldo.      But    I 

so   funny  \\hrn  I  see  Bill  Summers  rhr 
at    |>lay.      1    ferl   all  <  -hot  —  like — Tike  — 

oh  ! 
I  just  frel  like  that     An*  \vVn  it  ho 

c  took  off  the  fir< 
Hut  there's  no' 

me  off  the  fire  when  I'm  bo  .  an'  th 

no  ie  o:l' —  so  you  see  I  cant  help  it 

As  the    obji  <1    these    prei  «>(  iou^lv 

phi!  J  rrmarK  --(I  up  in 

iinpiirinu  Lra  her 

'    it  with  !ly  rarn- 

—  though  ihrre  was  a  twinkle  in  ear 

M    each    •  :iat    indicated  a 

.  —  and  said, — 
"  I   < 

'g  it  off  tlir    ! 

^  11.  piired  'I 

"By  letting   it    boil    over    till    it   put   th«-  fire 

ject   opened   its 
pur  mouth  very 


MARCH  'MARSTON'S  EDUCATION.  19 

grinned  a  little  with  an  air  of  uncertainty,  and 
was  about  to  laugh,  but  checked  itself,  and,  with 
a  look  of  perplexity  said,  — 

«  Eh  ?  " 

"  Ay,  my  boy,"  resumed  the  mother,  "just  you 
try  the  boilingrover  plan  next  time.  When  you" 
feel  inclined  to  fight,  and  know,  or  think  that  you 
shouldn't,  just  stand  quite  still,  and  look  hard 
at  the  ground,  —  mind,  don't  look  at  the  boy 
you  want  to  fight  with,  but  at  the  ground, — 
and  begin  to  count  one,  two,  three,  four,  and  so 
on,  and  I'm  quite  sure  that  when  you've  counted 
fifty  the  fire  will  be  out.  Now,  will  you  try,  my 
son  ?  " 

"  Mother,"  replied  Two-feet-ten,  earnestly  (and 
becoming  at  least  two  feet  eleven  while  he  spoke), v 
"I'll  try!" 

This  ended  the  conversation  at  that  time,  and 
we  beg  leave  to  apologize  to  our  reader  for 
having  given  it  in  such  full  detail,  but  we  think 
it  necessary  to  the  forming  of  a  just  appreciation 
of  our  hero  and  his  mother,  as  it  shows  one  phase 
of  their  characters  better  than  could  have  been 
accomplished  by  a  labored  description. 

Before  March  Marston  had  attained  to  the  age 
of  sixteen  he  had  read  aloud  to  his  mother — riot 
once,  but  several  times  —  the  "  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field,"  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  the  "  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress," the  "Tales  of  a  Grandfather,"  "^Esop's 
Fables,"  and  a  variety  of  tales  and  stories  and 


.[}   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 

histories  of  lesser  note  —  all  of  which  he  st< 
up  in  a  good  memory,  and  gave  forth  in  piece- 
mral  to  iii-  uiili'ttrivd  companions  as  opp» 

than  all  tliis,  he  had  many 
mail y  a  timr  read  his  Bible  through,  and  was 

iliar  with  all  its  leading  heroes  and  histor 
and  anecdotes. 

Tim.-,  it  will  be  seen  that  March  Marston  was 
fce  a  Irarnrd  youth  for  a  backwoodsman,  be- 
ing  a  hero  and  a  u  madman." 


RIDING  A  nun 


THE   GREAT   PRAIRIE.  21 


CHAPTER    II. 

The  Great  Prairie.  —  A  Wild  Chase.  —  A  Remarkable  Accident  and 
an  Extraordinary  Charger,  all  of  which  terminate  in  a  Crash.  — 
Bounce  talks  Philosophy  and  tells  of  terrible  Things.  —  Our 
Hero  determines  to  beard  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  in  his  own 
Den. 

THE  rising  sun  lifted  his  head  above  the  hori- 
zon of  the  great  western  prairie,  gilding  the 
upper  edges  of  those  swelling  undulations  that 
bear  so  strong  a  resemblance  to  solidified  bil- 
lows as  to  have  acquired  the  name  of  prairie- 
waves. 

On  the  sunny  side  of  these  waves  the  flowrets 
of  the  plains  were  already  basking  in  full  enjoy- 
ment of  the  new  day ;  on  the  summits  only  the 
tips  of  their  petals  were  turned  to  gold.  On  the 
other  side  of  those  waves,  and  down  in  the  hol- 
lows, every  thing  was  clothed  in  deep  shadow, 
as  if  the  still  undissipated  shades  of  night  were 
lingering  there,  unwilling  or  unable  to  depart 
from  so  beautiful  a  scene.  This  mingling  of 
strong  lights  and  deep  shadows  had  the  effect 
of  rendering  more  apparent  the  tremendous  mag- 
nitude of  those  vast  solitudes. 

There  were  no  trees  within  the  circuit  of  vision, 
but  there  were  a  few  scattered  bushes,  so  low 


1)    MAN   0] 

"f  these  . 
. 

:i<l  with 

B  horsi-s   l:iy   two 

ilso  soui 

,i   iii   in- 

illilh'S  (>! 

!    to 

,   \\  illkr.; 

dr  with 


THE   PRAIBIE-HEN.  23 

violent  whir-r  which  is  so  gladdening,  yet  so 
startling  to  the  ear  of  a  sportsman.  It  was  in- 
stantly joined  by  the  other  members  of  the  covey 
to  which  it  belonged,  and  the  united  flock  went 
sweeping  past  the  sleeping  hunters,  causing  their 
horses  to  awake  with  a  snort,  and  themselves  to 
spring  to  their  feet  with  the  alacrity  of  men  who 
were  accustomed  to  repose  in  the  midst  of  alarms, 
and  with  a  grunt  of  surprise. 

"  Prairie-hens,'5  muttered  the  elder  of  the  two, 
—  a  big,  burly  backwoodsman,  —  as  he  turned 
toward  his  companion,  with  a  quiet  smile.  "  It 
was  very  thoughtful  on  'em  to  rouse  us,  lad, 
considerin'  the  work  that  lies  before  us." 

"  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  they  didn't  rise 
quite  so  early,"  replied  the  younger  man,  also  a 
stout  backwoodsman,  who  was  none  other  -than 
our  hero  March  Marston  himself ;  "  I  don't  ap- 
prove of  risin'  till  one  wakes  in  the  course  of* 
nature  ;  d'ye  see,  Bounce  ?  " 

"  I  hear ;  but  we  can't  always  git  things  to  go 
'xactly  as  we  approves  of,"  replied  Bounce,  stoop- 
ing down  to  arrange  the  embers  of  the  previous 
night's  fire. 

Bounce's  proper  name  was  Bob  Ounce.  He 
styled  himself,  and  wrote  himse]f  (for  he  could 
write  to  the  extent  of  scrawling  his  own  name  in 
angularly  irregular  large  text),  "  B.  Ounce."  His 
comrades  called  him  "  Bounce." 

"  You   see,  March,"  continued    Bounce,  in  a 


MAN   OF  THE   WE 

his   rugL 

spark  \\liicli  kindled  b 

r  —  "you    s- 
\vi;  -  a  feelosopher   to  o. 

!  even  he  don't  D 

••(1  th:it 

Irin1    Np's   coinr,  we've  got   I  LC  uj> 

it  or  no;  d' 
M  I'd  see 

;    'it     ihr  dr; 
. 

o  occasion   to  call    1 

in  \\  ith  :i  h 

rd    Bounce,    ill! 

li    1    promised    in 
in  ;md 

•   your    i 

1 

obsarvc 

. 

eivt  l:id,  at  on 


BOUNCE'S  "  FEELOSOPHY."  25 

44  Humph !  "  ejaculated  March,  "  I  suppose  you 
began  your  observations  before  you  were  a  year 
old,  — eh,  Bounce?" 

44 1  began  'em  afore  I  was  a  day  old.  The  first 
thing  I  did  in  this  life  was  to  utter  an  'orrible 
roar,  and  I  obsarved  that  immediately  I  got  a 
drink  ;  so  I  roared  agin,  an'  got  another.  Least- 
wise I've  bin  told  that  I  did,  an'  if  it  wasn't 
obsarvation  as  caused  me  for  to  roar  w'en  I 
wanted  a  drink,  wot  wos  it." 

Instead  of  replying,  March  started  up,  and 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  right  hand,  gazed  in- 
tently toward  the  horizon. 

44  Wot  now,  lad  ?  "  said  Bounce  rising  quickly. 
"Ha!  buffaloes!" 

In  half  a  minute  the  cords  by  which  the  two 
horses  were  fastened  to  pegs  driven  into  the 
plain,  were  coiled  up ;  in  another  half-minute  the 
saddle-girths  were  buckled ;  in  half  a  second 
more  the  men  were  mounted  and  tearing  over 
the  prairie  like  the  wind. 

44  Ha,  lad,"  remarked  Bounce,  with  one  of  his 
quiet  smiles  —  for  he,  was  a  preeminently  quiet 
man,  — 44  but  for  them  there  prairie-hens  we'd  ha' 
slept  this  chance  away." 

The  buffaloes,  or,  more  correctly  speaking,  the 
bisons,  which  young  Marston's  sharp  eye  had 
discovered,  were  still  so  far  distant  that  they  ap- 
peared like  crows  or  Little  black  specks  against 
the  sky.  In  order  to  approach  them  as  near  as 


'J6 

possible  \\  r 

'  :ie   tWO    1  Illd     Ilia 

wid-  ,  80  as  to  get  well  to  lee\\anl. 

\vind  should  carry  the  M  the  herd. 

ir  horses  being  fleet,  strong,  and  fresh,  ^ 

•<  d    the;  proprr  direction,  \vh«-n    Miry 

:md  galloped  straigl 
'i  their  ({irirr 

the   i^roniK 
ipproach,  so  thtit   th- 

of   the   li 

urea  gazed  a 

huh  1   >',irj)ri.-e  ;   tln-n  ih«-\   turned 

the  outset,  to  ru 
and    \\ith    diliieiilty,   and    the    plain    se. 

i    their    i 
hr.-n   fru  t-r    th.i 

tin-  h'-nl.       Hut    as   the   ln>r>»  inen  drew  n* 
inereast-d    their    sjierd    and    j>ut    the    s'« •«•(!<, 
and  -tron-j  though  'f:  mettle. 

(  )n  thr    hutlaloes     the 

!>all    thr. 

Hied     him.       Ha\iiiLT    OOO  up 

with  the  animal  \\<-  meant  to  shoot,  he  cocke. 

i    held    it   in  :  066    the  pommel 


A   NOVEL   RILE.  27 

nearer,  in  order  to  make  a  sure  shot.  When  the 
horse  had  run  up  so  close  that  its  head  was  in 
line  with  the  buffalo's  flank,  he  pointed  his  rifle 
at  its  shoulder.  At  that  precise  moment  the 
horse,  whose  attention  "was  entirely  engrossed 
with  the  buffalo,  put  his  left  fore-foot  into  a 
badger-hole.  The  consequence  of  such  an  acci- 
dent is,  usually,  a  tremendous  flight  through  the 
air  on  the  part  of  the  rider,  while  his  steed  rolls 
upon  the  plain ;  but  on  the  present  occasion  a 
still  more  surprising  result  followed.  March 
Marston  not  only  performed  the  aerial  flight,  but 
he  alighted  with  considerable  violence  on  the 
back  of  the  affrighted  buffalo.  Falling  on  his 
face  in  a  sprawling  manner,  he  chanced  to  grasp 
the  hairy  mane  of  the  creature  with  both  hands, 
and,  with  a  violent  half-involuntary  effort,  suc- 
ceeded in  seating  himself  astride  its  back. 

The  whole  thing  was  done  so  instantaneously 
that  he  had  scarce  time  to  realize  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him  ere  he  felt  himself  sweeping  com- 
fortably over  the  prairies  on  this  novel  and 
hitherto  unridden  steed !  A  spirit  of  wild,  un- 
governable glee  instantly  arose  within  him; 
seizing  the  handle  of  the  heavy  hunting-whip, 
which  still  hung  from  his  right  wrist  by  a 
leathern  thong,  he  flourished  it  in  the  air,  and 
brought  it  down  on  his  charger's  flank  with  a 
crack  like  a  pistol-shot,  causing  the  animal  to 
wriggle  its  tail,  toss  its  ponderous  head,  and  kick 


28  WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 

up  its    heels  in  a   way   that    wrll-nii:h   u 
him. 

- 

n.   he   uttnvd   ;i   -hurt    laugh,  or  gru 
tiimiiiLT    his    horse    abruptly,   soon   ranged    up 

<ir. 

"  ll:.ll.>,    March  !  "    •  dmed,   u  are   you 

••  .1      •  •      \  a,    Lfivinir    tli" 

with   the  whip  as  he  loo 
^  eyes  and  a  broad  grin 

won't  d' 

I'll  poke  ye  o 

••  \\".  !;.  k<  -  ,  lit    ICLT    a    hit 

"  Held     hard,   old    frl!o\\  '  M:«r>t(»u     in 

I'll  do  tin-  thi- 
ii.    lad  —  lo\\rr  down. 

L   and    p!uiiLr«'d    hi- 
a^ain  —  up  to  ihr  li 


MARSTON'S  REWARD.  29 

remainder  of  the  buffaloes   had  diverged   right 
and  left,  leaving  this  singular  group  alone. 

"  Mind  your  eye,"  said  Bounce,  quickly,"  she's 
a-goin'  to  fall." 

Unfortunately  Marston  had  not  time  given 
him  to  mind  either  his  eye  or  his  neck.  The 
wounded  buffalo  stumbled,  and  fell  to  the  ground 
with  a  sudden  and  heavy  plunge,  sending  its  wild 
rider  once  again  on  an  aerial  journey,  which 
terminated  in  his  coming  down  on  the  plain  so 
violently  that  he  was  rendered  insensible. 

On  recovering  consciousness,  he  found  himself 
lying  on  his  back,  in  what  seemed  to  be  a  beau- 
tiful forest,  through  which  a  stream  flowed  with 
a  gentle,  silvery  sound.  The  bank  opposite  rose 
considerably  higher  than  the  spot  on  which  he 
lay,  and  he  could  observe,  through  his  half-closed 
eye-lids,  that  its  green  slope  was  gemmed  with 
beautiful  flowers,  and  gilded  with  patches  of  sun- 
light that  struggled  through  the  branches  over- 
head. 

Young  Marston's  first  impression  was  that  he 
must  be  dreaming,  and  that  he  had  got  into  one 
of  the  fairy-tale  regions  about  which  he  had  so 
often  read  to  his  mother.  A  shadow  seemed  to 
pass  over  his  eyes  as  he  thought  this,  and,  looKing 
up,  he  beheld  the  rugged  face  of  Bounce  gazing 
at  him  with  an  expression  of  considerable  inter- 
est and  anxiety. 

"  I  say,  Bounce,  this  is  jolly ! " 
3* 


30  THE   WILD   MAN   OP 


:  tlir   hunt!  r  \\  itli  a  '' 
your  h«  91  vou'll  rh 

yer  opinion." 

i    try    to    rai-r    hi.    h  i    did 

his  opinion,     BIB  neck  i 

iron    hint's,  \\  hidi    had    IMT- 
h  in  need  o; 

!  "    groaned     Mar  g    his 

ck  on  the  s;i  :n  which  he 

!  it, 

ved  Bom 

,you  old  savage? 

!ir<l    the 

.«•«•  ;'or  ill  i   .M.irsi. 

d.M  ;  ;i8    he   la  al'trr   dri  H  ith 

\\hrn   I 

me  ?  —  oh! 

thr 

—  bo- 
ugh term 

Hi.     I'll 
A  man'.- 


SMOKING    A   TOMAHAWK.  °.l 

—  that's  the  feelosophy  of  the  whole  matter. 
You've  a'most  bin  bu'sted  wi'  that  there  fall ;  but 
you'll  be  all  right  to-morrow.  An'  you've  killed 
yer  buffalo,  lad,  so  yer  mother  '11  get  the  hump 
after  all.  Only  keep  yer  mind  easy,  an'  I  guess 
human  natur  '11  do  all  the  rest." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  these  sentiments  in 
a  quietly  oracular  manner,  Bounce  again  patted 
March  on  the  head,  as  if  he  had  been  a  large 
baby  or  a  favorite  dog,  and,  rising  up,  proceeded 
to  kindle  a  small  fire,  and  to  light  his  pipe. 

Bounce  smoked  a  tomahawk,  which  is  a  small 
iron  hatchet  used  by  most  of  the  Indians  of  North 
America  as  a  battle-axe.  There  is  an  iron  pipe- 
bowl  on  the  top  of  the  weapon,  and  the  handle, 
which  is  hollow,  answers  the  purpose  of  a  pipe- 
stem. 

The  hunter  continued  to  smoke,  and  Marston 
continued  to  gaze  at  him  till  he  fell  asleep.  "W  hen 
he  awoke,  Bounce  was  still  smoking  the  toma- 
hawk in  the  self-same  attitude.  The  youth  might 
have  concluded  that  he  had  been  asleep  only  a  few 
minutes  and  that  his  friend  had  never  moved ;  but 
he  was  of  an  observant  nature,  and  noticed  that 
there  was  a  savory,  well-cooked  buffalo  steak 
near  the  fire,  and  that  a  strong  odor  of  marro\\  - 
bones  tickled  his  nostrils  —  also,  that  the  sun  no 
longer  rested  on  the  green  bank  opposite.  Hence, 
he  concluded  that  he  must  have  slept  a  consider- 
able time,  and  that  the  tomahawk  had  been  filled 
and  emptied  more  than  once. 


32  TUB   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 

•  \\  said  Bounce,  looking  roi 

a  comf 'able  nap  ?  " 

K  How    <li<l   you    know    1   was   a\v;ik 
•••h.      ••  You    weren't  looking  at    in< •,   :uul    I 

••  K  dj   hut  you  wink 

how  do  you  kn< 

Mn't   wink   if  ye  was  a 

from  afore,  ft 

A'<!  y<*  \,  t  a  man 

al\\  ,c8  awak  -ee! 

Ifl  the  feelosophy  of  obsar 

M  \  « -ry    ur«  ••  that 

.'  tin-  r;i  inuch   to  tr;, 

,>per." 
l;i«l.  II«TC   yuu  ;irr  ;    ihrrr's  nuthin'  likt- 

•ruling  a  j>ewter  plat« 
.ik  ;tn.l  m:ir,  young  « 

Marston  attained  a  sitting  posture  with  n 
diliiculry  ;m<l    ;».iin  ;    l>ut  wln-n    hr  h  ihr 

(1  swallowed  a  cup  of  hot  tea 

. 
witt 

night  h'  <  11, —  al\\ 

and  a  fi'dimr  *.j'  ru-ty-h 
tlu-  n-ir'.on  of  I:, 


BOUNCE'S  STORY.  33 

"  Now,  Bounce,"  said  he,  as  he  lay  down  and 
pulled  his  blanket  over  his  shoulder,  "  are  the 
horses  hobbled,  and  the  rifles  loaded,  and  my 
mother's  hump  out  o'  the  way  of  wolves  ?  " 

«  All  right,  lad." 

"  Then,  Bounce,  you  go  ahead,  and  tell  me  a 
story  till  I'm  off  asleep.  Don't  stop  tellin'  till 
I'm  safe  off.  Pull  my  nose  to  make  sure  ;  and 
if  I  don't  say  '  hallo  ! '  to  that,  I'm  all  right  —  in 
the  land  of  Nod." 

March  Marston  smiled  as  he  said  this,  and 
Bounce  grinned  by  way  of  reply. 

"  Wot'll  I  tell  ye  about,  boy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  what — Indians,  grislies,  buffa- 
loes, trappers,  —  it's  all  one  to  me ;  only  begin 
quick,  and  go  ahead  strong." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  great  at  story  tellin' !  P'raps  it 
would  be  more  to  the  p'int  if  I  was  to  tell  ye 
about  what  I  heered  tell  of  on  my  last  trip  to 
the  Mountains.  Did  I  ever  tell  ye  about  the 
feller  as  the  trappers  that  goes  to  the  far  North 
caUs  the  '  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  ? ' " 

"  No  ;  what  was  he  ?  "  said  Marston,  yawning 
and  closing  his  eyes. 

"  I  dun  know  'xactly  wot  he  was.  I'm  not 
overly  sure  that  I  even  know  what  he  is,  but  I 
know  what  the  trappers  says  of  him  ;  an'  if  omy 
the  half  o't's  true,  he's  a  shiner,  he  is." 

Having  said  thus  much,  Bounce  filled  his 
tomahawk,  lighted  it,  puffed  a  large  cloud  from 


was  an 

if   !u',ru!>rious   solemnity   of 
— 
•  o  on,  old  boy." 

it's  easy  to  say, '  Go  on;1    In  it   ii 

•)i"  'crril'lr  things  as  is  said  a: 

•i«,  p'raps  y.unl  say, 
V      It  '1!  r  blood  : 

ir  git  up 

»  was  deeply  superst  i  <  >oked 

. 

••3.    Marston,  \vho  \v;i>  i. 
BO   -  i,  looked 

,    tlir    Baj  K\  ;in<i  win 

i 

cats  ma 

)  he  once 

a  li: 


BOUNCE'S  STORY.  35 

shot,  too ;  he  carries  a  double-barrelled  rifle 
twenty  foot  long  that  takes  a  small  cannon-ball. 
I  forgot  to  tell  ye  he's  a  giant  —  some  o'  the  trap- 
pers calls  him  the  '  giant  o'  the  hills,'  and  they 
say  he's  'bout  thirty  feet  high  —  some  says  forty. 
But  there's  no  gittin'  at  the  truth  in  this  here 
wurld." 

Bounce  paused  here,  but,  as  his  companion 
made  no  observation,  he  went  on  in  a  half-solilo- 
quizing fashion,  looking  earnestly  all  the  time 
into  the  heart  of  the  fire,  as  if  he  were  addressing 
his  remarks  to  a  salamander. 

"  Ay,  he's  a  crack  shot,  as  I  wos  sayin'.  One 
day  he  fell  in  with  a  grisly  bear,  an'  the  brute 
rushed  at  him  ;  so  he  up  rifle  an'  puts  a  ball  up 
each  nose  " —  ("  I  didn't  know  a  grisly  had  two 
noses,"  murmured  March),  —  "  an'  loaded  agin', 
an'  afore  it  corned  up  he  put  a  ball  in  each  eye ; 
then  he  drew  his  knife  an'  split  it  right  down  the 
middle  from  nose  to  tail  at  one  stroke,  an'  cut  it 
across  with  another  stroke ;  an',  puttin'  one  quar- 
ter on  his  head,  he  took  another  quarter  under 
each  arm,  an'  the  fourth  quarter  in  his  mouth, 
and  so  walked  home  to  his  cave  in  the  moun- 
tains —  'bout  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  off, 
where  he  roasted  an'  ate  the  whole  bear  at  one 
sittin'  —  bones,  hair,  an'  all !  " 

This  flight  was  too  strong  for  March.  He  burst 
into  a  fit  of  laughter,  which  called  the  rusty 
hinges  into  violent  action  and  produced  a  groan. 


:36  THE    WILD   MAN   OF  THE  WK 

l;tiii:h    and    the    if  roan    U>_ 
drowsiness,  so  he  ti.nn-d  on  b  :, — 

Thus    poiniedly  •  d    on   what   he  frit   to 

•    point,  Hounce  drew  a  great  number 
of  whitl-  from    the  Toma;  B  h»-  v« -n 

At  length  he  said,  — 

••  \\'.'!l.  • 

p'int  —  I  ilon't.      Hut    I   b'li' 
i.'lif-vc  there's  some  'xtraord'n:iry  . 

•  I'vr   li". 

;irs  —  of]  — in  ihrse  p;trt<. 

.    this  wurld 

iind   ani)  thin    ye've   always  got  something. 
i^ot  hold  o'  point-thin*  an 

•     1    b'lir\. 
i    this  wild    ii  i    I   dun 

kno 

A ed  up  ihi>  remark  \\ith  a  minute 

h  \\  ere  more  or  less  : 

«  drd  in    iiitrrestiiiL- 

U  to  fill  liim  \vit!i  a 
f  his   own    l».-lirf  in    :it    \r\\>' 

. 

lud'-d  \\  ith  the  assertion  ; 
M  he'd   L  rille,   ;m'  that    v. 

o  >ee  this  wild  man." 


THE   TRAPPERS.  37 

To  which  Marston  replied,  — 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Bounce,  I  will  see  this 
wild  man,  if  it's  in  the  power  of  bones  and  mus- 
cles to  carry  me  within  eyeshot  of  him.  Now, 
see  if  I  don't." 

Bounce  nodded  his  head  and  looked  sagacious, 
as  he  said,  — 

"  D'ye  know,  lad,  I  don't  mind  if  I  go  along 
with  ye.  It's  true,  I'm  not  tired  of  them  parts 
hereabouts  —  and  if  I  wos  to  live  till  I  couldn't 
see,  I  don't  think  as  ever  I'd  git  tired  o'  the  spot 
where  my  father  larned  me  to  shoot  an'  my 
mother  dandled  me  on  her  knee ;  but  I've  got  a 
fancy  to  see  a  little  more  o'  the  wurld,  —  'specially 
the  far  off  parts  o'  the  Rocky  Mountains,  w'ere 
I've  never  bin  yit ;  so  I  do  b'lieve  if  ye  wos  to  try 
an'  persuade  me  very  hard  I'd  consent  to  go 
along  with  ye." 

"  Will  you,  though  ? "  cried  March,  eagerly 
(again,  to  his  cost,  forgetting  the  rusty  hinges). 

"  Ay,  that  will  I,  boy,"  replied  the  hunter ; 
"  an'  now  I  think  on  it,  there's  four  as  jolly 
trappers  in  Pine  Point  settlement  at  this  here 
moment,  as  ever  floored  a  grisly  or  fought  an 
Injun.  They're  the  real  sort  of  metal.  None.o' 
yer  tearin',  swearin',  murderin'  chaps,  as  thinks 
the  more  they  curse  the  bolder  they  are,  an'  the 
more  Injuns  they  kill  the  cliverer  they  are ;  but 
steady  quiet  fellers,  as  don't  speak  much,  but  does 
a  powerful  quantity  ;  boys  that  know  a  deer  from 


38  F   TOE   WEST. 

Jim,  1   guess;   that   g<x 
;;ip   and  comes   1  heir 

sold  'em,  goes  right  off 

ou  mean.    I   think;  at  1« 
ih«-m,"  observed  Man  h. 

- 
-  Waller,  i 

i i<l    1  Jounce,  nodding;   "  Hi«: 
Waller,  we  calls  him."1 

i     not     Mirr    lh:it     1    can    Lrn- 

?  " 
^aid  Boil  ':i  :ui  cmj)h:i- 

•  »int  of  i 
r  to  stain ] )  tin-   ii  !i   a 

litii<  i  a  red  nose  an'  n  , 

"  1    know  him,"    intrrrupicd    Man  );iult 

Then  thrrr's  Ha 

iiusi  \vliosf  \'  all 

inn  \   a    man  tribe,  and  who 

in'  with 

\  n*    • 


MAHJII    MAH3TON   AT    HOME.  39 

"Oh,  I  know  hini  well.  He  must  be  made 
of  iron,  I  think,  to  go  through  what  he  does  at 
his  time  of  life.  I  wonder  what  his  right  name 
is?" 

"  Nobody  knows  that,  lad.  You  know,  as  well 
as  I  do,  that  he  wos  called  Redhand  by  the  Injuns 
in  consekence  o'  the  lot  o'  grislies  he's  killed  in  m 
his  day ;  but  nobody  never  could  git  at  his  real 
name.  P'rhaps  it's  not  worth  gittin'  at.  Now, 
them  four  '11  be  startin'  in  a  week  or  two  for 
1he  mountains,  an'  wot's  to  hinder  us  a  jinin'  of 
them  ?  " 

To  his  own  question  Bounce,  after  a  pause, 
replied  with  deliberate  emphasis,  "  Nothin'  what- 
somedivir;''  and  his  young  companion  heartily 
echoed  the  sentiment. 

Exactly  thirty-six  hours  after  the  satisfactory 
formation  of  the  above  resolution,  March  Marston 
galloped  furiously  toward  the  door  of  his  mother's 
cottage,  reined  up,  leaped  to  the  ground,  seized 
the  buffalo  hump  that  hung  at  his  saddle-bow, 
and  entered  with  a  good  deal  of  that  impetuosity 
that  had  gone  far  to  procure  for  him  the  title  of 
madman.  Flinging  the  bloody  mass  of  meat  on 
the  floor  he  sat  down  on  a  chair,  and  said  — 

"  There,  mother." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  clever  fellow,"  said  Mrs. 
Marston,  drying  her  hands  (for  she  had  been 
washing  dishes),  and  giving  her  son  a  hearty  kiss 
on  the  forehead. 


40  \VILI»    M  i!E   WEST. 

or  not  clever,  n 

Oft  in  two  d;t 

;i   wa.<   neither  dismayed   nor  sur- 
.<'  was  used  to  that  sort  of  tiling,  and 
didn't  mind  it. 

\  .  my  boy?" 

Vild   .Mai, 
«  'I 

Wild   Man  i>' 

:i  th:it  followed.      March 

rse  with  the  -  \\*ild 

'he    \\"e  .lid    lie   j 

•  \\  as   h\ 

.  timid  woman)  at  le: 

i  him  i:<  im    for   \\\>  reso- 

lution.     The    only   restraint  d    upon 

\\"ild    Man,    if    h.'    -honld    hajip. 
him. 

n  as  if  h-  i  eaired  wild  hea 

and  him.    }>•  iust  not 

le;  //////  alone.       I 

\ -as  made,  a 

ln-d  upon  tin'  river,  and 


DEPARTURE  FOR  THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS.   41 

Big  Waller,  Black  Gibault,  Hawkswing,  and 
Redhand,  the  trappers.  A  cheer  rang  from  the 
end  of  the  little  wharf  at  Pine  Point,  as  the  frail 
craft  shot  out  into  the  stream.  The  wild  woods 
echoed  back  the  cheer,  which  mingled  with  the 
lusty  answering  shout  of  the  trappers  as  they 
waved  their  caps  to  the  friends  they  left  behind 
them.  Then,  dipping  their  paddles  with  strong 
rapid  strokes,  they  headed  the  canoe  toward  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  soon  disappeared  up  one 
of  those  numerous  tributary  streams  that  consti-* 
tute  the  head- waters  of  the  Missouri  river. 

4* 


il  AFTER    I  I  I. 

:aet  of  the  Wilderness.  —  Portages.  —  Philosophy  of  S«C- 

Footprint. 
Bear-hunt  in  pn 

u  paddling,  and  hauling,  and  li 

hrro   and   li 

•    ill     thr 

r    unknown    to 

m^   in    tl  g   ihosc  | 

,1   world 

IgB,  with 

and     frlr      voii' 

h  a    heavy  j 

• 
.  wij>rd    hi-  hratrd  !>r  ihc 

''.i    thr    noblr    lai,  lay    SJ)P    i  . 

,,111. 


BEAUTIES   OF   THE   WILDERNESS.  43 

"Ha!  that's  the  sort  o' thing  — that's  it!"- 
he  exclaimed,  nodding  his  head,  as  if  the  rich  and 
picturesque  arrangement  of  wood  and  water  had 
been  got  up  expressly  for  his  benefit,  and  he  were 
pleased  to  signify  his  entire  approval  of  it. 

"  That's  just  it,"  he  continued,  after  a  short 
contemplative  pause,  "just  what  I  expected  to 
find.  Ain't  I  glad?  eh!" 

March  certainly  looked  as  if  he  was ;  but, 
being  at  that  moment  alone,  no  one  replied  to 
his  question  or  shared  his  enjoyment.  After 
another  short  pause  he  resumed  his  audible  med- 
itations. 

"  Now,  did  ever  any  one  see  sich  a  place  as 
this  in  all  the  wide  'arth  ?  That's  what  I  want 
to  know.  Never !  Just  look  at  it  now.  There's 
miles  an'  miles  o'  woods  an'  plains,  an'  lakes,  an' 
rivers,  wherever  I  choose  to  look  —  all  round  me. 
And  there  are  deer,  too,  lots  of  'em,  lookin'  quite 
tame,  and  no  wonder,  for  I  suppose  the  fut  of 
man  never  rested  here  before,  except,  may^be,  the 
fut  of  a  redskin  now  an'  again.  And  there's 
poplars,  an'  oaks,  an'  wiUows,  as  thick  as  they 
can  grow." 

March  might  have  added  that  there  were  also 
elm,  and  sycamore,  and  ash,  and  hickory,  and 
walnut,  and  cotton-wood  trees  in  abundance, 
with  numerous  aspen  groves,  in  the  midst  of 
which  were  lakelets  margined  with  reeds  and 
hare-bells,  and  red  willows,  and  wild  roses,  and 


44  THE   WILD    MAX    OF   TI 

id    prickly    pears,    ;md    n 
\vhi-  |&      II.-  miirht,  we  say,  have 

all  la    great   deal    more,  with 

in    he  didn't,  for  his   ki;< 
;  such  things  was  limited,  so  h<   < 
himself,  like  ;i  \\  M.  to  the 

6    things  that    he  happened  to  be  arquaii. 

tiled      .March.    MartiiiLT     D] 

a  hollow  in  the  oTound 
••  thcrc'<  uri-l\    1. 

IP    fut-inark  of  one,  as   sure  as    I'm  a 
11 ! " 

-uld  have  bc<Mi  in 

i'(  h  in  rcLrard  to  liis  hcini:  a  \\h!  •<*  u. 
lor  hr  \\  as  as  brown  aa  c 

.  ike  him  ;   hut  h- 

white  piircn 

:  he  h;id  diaoon 

of  a  grisly  t  1  it 

witn  Mian     usual  ;«:h 

V   of    tho-r    E  Til 

i)\ 
yage  to 

••s  long,  « 
hi  10  busily  engaged  in  exai 


BLACK    GIBAULT.  45 

ing  it,  Black  Gibault  came  panting  up  the  lull 
with  a  huge  pack  on  his  back. 

"  Ho !  March,  me  gargon,  v'at  you  be  find  la  ?  " 
cried  the  Canadian,  throwing  down  his  pack,  and 
advancing. 

"  A  bar,  Gibault ;  Caleb  himself.  A  regular 
big  un,  too.  Just  look  here." 

"Ah!  oui,  vraiment;  dat  am  be  one  exton- 
ishin'  vopper,  sure  'nuff.  Mais,  him's  gone  pass 
long  ago,  so  you  better  come  avay  an'  finish  de 
portage." 

"  Not  I,  lad,"  cried  March,  gaily,  as  he  flung 
himself  upon  the  grassy  mound;  "I'm  goin'  to 
admire  this  splendid  country  till  I'm  tired  of  it, 
and  leave  you  and  the  other  fellows  to  do  the 
work." 

"  Oh !  ver'  goot,"  replied  Gibault,  sitting  down 
beside  our  hero,  and  proceeding  to  fill  his  pipe, 
"  I  will  'mire  de  contray,  too,  Ha !  it  be  unmark- 
ibly  beautiful  —  specially  when  beholded  troo 
one  cloud  of  tabacco  smoke." 

"  Alas  !  Gibault,  we'll  have  to  move  off  sooner 
than  we  expected,  for  there  it  comes." 

The  two  friends  leaped  up  simultaneously, 
and,  seizing  their  packs,  hurried  down  the 
mound,  entered  the  thick  bushes,  and  vanished. 

The  object  whose  sudden  appearance  had  occa- 
sioned this  abrupt  departure  would,  in  truth,  have 
been  somewhat  singular,  not  to  say  alarming,  in 
aspect,  to  those  who  did  not  know  its  nature.  At 


-e  hor 

ids  of,  with 
'    thirty    tVct    IOMLT.     It  was   red*; 
'i  color,  and  cam 

asionally  above 
ntliw  1>- 
.  and  it  turn*  >  be  a  c 

Invian  I;  •-.'.- it h  IVig  Waller  and 

^gstoit.     O 
r,   and    Ilnwksv 

i  large  en 

. 

. 

•tiki  d  a 
r   hc!;i  <»    better   than    y 

. 

. 
nd    him    \\ith    h; 

diggins   of    old 

Ada 


BIG    WALLER   AND    HAWKSWIXG.  47 

per.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  all  Yankees 
"  guess,"  and  "  calculate  "  and  talk  through  their 
noses.  There  are  many  who  don't,  as  well  as 
many  who  do ;  but  certain  it  is  that  Big  Waller 
possessed  all  these  peculiarities  in  an  alarming 
degree.  Moreover,  he  was  characteristically  thin, 
and  tall,  and  sallow.  Nevertheless,  he  was  a 
hearty,  good-natured  fellow,  not  given  to  boasting 
so  much  as  most  of  his  class,  but  much  more 
given  to  the  performance  of  daring  deeds.  In 
addition  to  his  other  qualities,  the  stout  Yankee 
had  a  loud,  thundering,  melodious  voice,  which 
he  was  fond  of  using,  and  tremendous  activity  of 
body,  which  he  was  fond  of  exhibiting. 

He  was  quite  a  contrast,  in  all  respects  to  his 
Indian  companion,  Hawkswing,  who,  although 
about  as  tall,  was  not  nearly  so  massive  or  power- 
ful. Like  most  North  American  Indians,  he  was 
grave  and  taciturn  in  disposition ;  in  other  re- 
spects, there  was  nothing  striking  about  him. 
He  was  clad,  like  his  comrades,  in  a  trapper's 
hunting  shirt  and  leggings ;  but  he  scprned  to 
use  a  cap  of  any  kind,  conceiving  that  his  thick, 
straight  black  hair  was  a  sufficient  covering,  as, 
undoubtedly  it  was.  He  was  as  courageous  as 
most  men ;  a  fair  average  shot,  and,  when  occa- 
sion required,  as  lithe  and  agile  as  a  panther  ;  but 
he  was  not  a  hero ;  few  savages  are.  He  pos- 
sessed one  good  quality,  however,  beyond  his 
kinsmen  ;  he  preferred  mercy  to  revenge,  and  did 


49  THI:  v, 

(lea  of  t« 
1   fringing  hi  ings 

'•t  spot,"  said  Redhaml  TO  hi- 
•ood  or  n  dini'd  in  \ 
lace  as  T 
Of  in  for 

'  why  don't    yeytfaeo?91    in<piirr«l     \V:ill.-r. 
.inkin'  o' 

»n,  with  a  M 
i  |.a-sr»i  many  years 

_TUre  was  still  tall  ami  Mr:, 
in    his   <!;irk  "-t    -trikin^ 

A 

UM 

iT     til.'     - 


BOUNCE'S  OPINION.  49 

younger  comrades.  In  youth,  he  must  have  been 
a  strikingly  handsome  man.  Even  in  old  age  he 
was  a  strong  one. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what's  my  opinion  now,  boys,  in 
regard  to  settlin'  down,"  said  Bounce,  who,  having 
filled  and  lighted  his  pipe,  now  found  himself  in  a 
position  to  state  his  views  comfortably.  "  Ye  see, 
settlin'  down  may,  in  a  gin'ral  way,  be  said  to  be 
nonsense.  In  pint  o'  fact,  there  ain't  no  sich  a 
thing  as  settlin'  down.  When  a  feller  sits  down, 
why,  in  a  short  bit,  he's  bound  to  rise  up  agin, 
and  when  he  goes  to  bed,  he  means  for  to  git  up 
next  mornin'."  (Here  Bounce  paused,  drew 
several  whiffs,  and  rammed  down  the  tobacco  in 
his  pipe  with  the  end  of  his  little  finger.)  "  Then, 
when  a  feller  locates  in  a  place,  he's  sure  for  to 
be  movin'  about,  more  or  less,  as  long  as  he's  got 
a  leg  to  stand  on.  Now,  what  I  say  is,  that  when 
a  man  comes  to  talk  o'  settlin'  down,  he's  losin' 
heart  for  a  wanderin'  life  among  all  the  beautiful 
things  o'  creation,  an'  when  a  man  loses  heart 
for  the  beautiful  things  o'  creation,  he'U  soon 
settle  down  for  good  and  all.  He's  in  a  bad 
way,  he  is,  and  oughtn't  to  encourage  hisself 
in  sich  feelin's.  I  b'lieve  that  to  be  the  feelo- 
sophy  o'  the  whole  affair,  and  I  don't  b'lieve 
that  nobody  o'  common  edication  —  I  don't 
mean  school  edication,  but  backwoods  edication 
—  would  go  for  to  think  otherwise.  Wot  say 
you,  Waller?" 

5 


"  Sartin 
pealed  to. 

Big  Waller  had  a  deep  r  r  the  sup- 

'id  wisdom  of  his  firiend  Bounce.    He 

to  hi-  lueubnitions  with  earnest 

when    he   understood    Thrm. 
assented  to  nil  hi-  friend  said.      When  Bounce 
became  r  him,  as  was  no 

:itly  the  0886,  lie  contented  himself  with  : 
lough  to  say,      I'm      ith 
in  1.  :.  thouirh  not  qu:1 

but  its  :ill  ri<:lr,  /';//  quit'-  surtin." 

M  \\'( •!!,  irning   to 

i*>  you   think  o'  them  a< 

tS,  old  I: 

i,  \\ho   h:td   Ix'cn 
'    thrse    sentiiin-i 

irazing  wistfully 
U    thr    v 

•  *s  shoui 
\-  earnest  tone  — 

behind 

"ii  when    my  i,MU. 

and 

if  ,  but  not   in  our  < 


SETTLING   DOWN.  51 

in  our  day.  The  redskins  and  the  bears  '11  hold 
it  as  long  as  we're  above  ground.  Yes,  I'd  like 
to  settle  down  there." 

"  Come,  come,  Redhand,"  said  Bounce,  "  this 
sort  o'  thing  '11  never  do.  Why,  you're  as  hale 
and  hearty  as  the  best  on  us.  Wot  on  'arth 
makes  you  talk  of  settlin'  down  in  that  there 
fashion  ?  " 

"  Ha ! "  exclaimed  Waller,  energetically,  "  I 
guess  if  ye  goes  on  in  that  style  ye'll  turn  into  a 
riglar  hiplecondrik  —  ain't  that  the  word, 'Bounce  ? 
I  heer'd  the  minister  say  it  was  the  wust  kind 
o'  the  blues.  What's  your  opinion  o'  settling 
down,  Hawks  wing  ?  " 

To  this  question  the  Indian  gravely  replied,  in 
his  own  language  (with  which  the  trappers  were 
well  acquainted),  that,  not  having  the  remotest 
idea  of  what  they  were  talking  about,  he  enter- 
tained no  opinion  in  regard  to  it  whatever. 

"  Well,  wotiver  others  may  hold,"  remarked 
Bounce,  emphatically,  "  I'm  strong  agin'  settlin' 
down  nowharV 

"  So  am  I,  out  an'  out,"  said  Waller. 

"Dat  be  plain  to  the  naked  eye,"  observed 
Gibault,  coming  up  at  the  moment.  "  Surement 
you  have  settle  down  here  for  ever.  Do  you 
s'pose,  mes  gardens,  dat  de  canoe  will  carry  his- 
self  over  de  portage  ?  Voila !  vat  is  dat  ?  " 

Gibault  pointed  to  the  foot-print  of  the  grisly 
bear,  as  he  spoke. 


THE    \HLD    M 

aCalrl»,"  udd.'d    \V:i 

huntrrs.       ••  1    •  nr\v   to    see 

in  thr  mud." 

\v  to  sec  hi i 
OOgly  Y:iiikr«»/'    crifd    (iit.;iult,   ; 

i    his  eyes,  and   running  ii  to 

iHrilcr-. 

;T   a    drrr  ^merged    fr«Mii   the 

:i   thr   spot   on   \\ 

iver, 

'a   our  FI 

the  spot  on  \\lfu-h  he  B8 

\r  on  tin-  |);i 
Me  :ind  llo:ifi-d  (i 

- 
.  llinirini 

»  be  strandrd.     (  . 

1    Ilirll    f 

frirnd  in  his  lui: 


"WE'VE  SEEN  CALEB!"  53 

bled  in  time  to  see  his  comrade  catch  the  deer  by 
the  horns,  as  it  floated  past,  and  drag  it  on  shore. 

"  Hah !  I  vill  pay  you  off  von  time,"  cried 
Gibault,  laughing,  and  shaking  his  fist  at  Waller. 
Then,  seizing  the  last  bale  of  goods  that  had  not 
been  carried  across  the  portage,  he  ran  away  with 
it  nimbly  up  the  banks  of  the  stream. 

Big  Waller  placed  the  deer  on  his  shoulders 
with  some  difficulty,  and  followed  in  the  same 
direction. 

On  reaching  the  other  end  of  the  portage,  they 
found  the  canoe  reloaded  and  in  the  water,  and 
their  comrades  evincing  symptoms  of  impatience. 

"  Come  on,  lads,  come  on,"  cried  March,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  most  impatient  of  them  all. 
"  We've  seen  Caleb  !  He's  up  the  river,  on  this 
side.  Get  in  !  He's  sich  a  banger,  oh  !  " 

Before  the  sentence  was  well  finished,  all  the 
men  were  in  their  places  except  Black  Gibault, 
who  remained  on  the  bank  to  shove  off  the  canoe. 

"  Now  lad,  get  in,"  said  Redhand,  whose  usu- 
ally quiet  eye  appeared  to  gleam  at  the  near 
prospect  of  a  combat  with  the  fierce  and  much- 
dreaded  monster  of  the  Far  West. 

"All  right,  mes  gargons,"  replied  Gibault; 
"  hand  me  mine  gun  ;  I  vill  valk  on  the  bank,  an' 
see  vich  vay  hims  go,  —  so,  adieu !  " 

With  a  powerful  push,  he  sent  the  light  craft 
into  the  stream,  and,  turning  on  his  heel,  entered 
the  woods. 

5* 


54 

I  liinir  up 

••  i  I"'s   :i  wild   fellar   tli;r.  ked    Be 

led    <on 

;   Ix-T  m\ 

;    t'alrli  ;   1   on!\  !1  iii 

\vith   him  till  we  git  ashore,  else  it  : 
with  him." 

•  if  it  iro<- 

Hob 

u  \\"h:it  hapjM-nr 

gneij| 

from  In 

Bays.     Bob  Swan  went  —  he  did  —  :r. 
if,  all    by  hissell'. 

lie  was  si( 

r  it  w  i  1 1 1 • 

j,n.     1  follered  him 

<\.  holle:- 

ka   at    him.  and    ! 

A  os   a   rn.-ty  old   lock,  an'  no 
There  \  •  'ii    ih«-  ! 

s!     It  ran  at  him,  an'  lie 


BIG  WALLER'S  STORY.  55 

ran  away.  Of  course  Caleb  soon  came  up,  an' 
Bob  primed  as  he  ran  an'  wheeled  about,  stuck 
the  muzzle  of  the  old  musket  right  into  Caleb's 
mouth,  and  fired.  He  swallered  the  whole  charge, 
that  bar  did,  as  if  it  had  been  a  glass  o'  grog,  and 
didn't  he  cough  some  ?  Oh,  no  !  an'  he  roared, 
too,  jist  like  this ." 

Big  Waller,  in  the  excitement  of  his  narrative, 
was  about  to  give  a  vocal  illustration,  when 
Bounce  suddenly  extinguished  him  by  clapping 
his  hand  on  his  mouth. 

"  Hist !  you  wild  buffalo,"  he  said,  "  you'll 
frighten  off  all  the  bars  within  ten  miles  of  us,  if 
you  raise  your  horrable  trumpet !  " 

"  I  do  believe,  I  forgot,"  said  the  Yankee,  with 
a  low  chuckle,  when  his  mouth  was  released. 

"  Well,  but  what  happened  to  Bob  Swan?" 
inquired  March,  eagerly. 

"  Wot  happened !  I  guess  the  bar  cotched 
him  by  the  leg,  an'  smashed  it  in  three  places, 
before  you  could  wink,  but,  by  good  luck,  I  come 
up  at  that  moment,  an'  put  a  ball  right  through 
Caleb's  brains.  Bob  got  better,  but  he  never  got 
the  right  use  o'  his  leg  after  that.  An'  we  found 
that  he'd  fired  a  charge  o'  small  shot  down  that 
bar's  throat  —  he  had !  " 

"  Hallo !  look !  is  yon  Caleb  ?  "  inquired  March, 
in  a  hoarse  whisper,  as  he  pointed  with  his  pad- 
dle to  a  distant  point  up  the  river  where  a  dark 
object  was  seen  moving  on  the  bank. 


50  I)   MAN   0] 

"  '! 

11  land  on  ti 
him." 

id    than    dour,*'    remark 

iherc's   another 
,  u-  and   Tai 

As  the  old  "kc,  the  canoe  passed  round 

a  low  point  which  had  hi 

:  hough    not  hiirh,   v. 
burst   11  j-  T  the  s:u; 

thr  Lrn-h 

old 

:i  \\arni. 

. 

. 

a  was  M 

iiich 
•••n-d  in  thr  <uu's  bright  r 

.  in 

])lan 

r   place.-. 

man's  hand  had 

\\  ildcrnr.^.      Th 


DESCRIPTION   OE    THE    SCENERY.  57 

was  bright  and  blue,  with  a  few  thin  feathery 
clouds  resting  motionless  upon  its  vast  concave, 
and  the  air  was  so  still  that  even  the  tremulous 
aspen  leaves  were  but  slightly  agitated,  while  the 
rest  of  the  forest's  drapery  hung  perfectly  motion- 
less. 

Complete  silence  would  have  reigned  but  for 
the  mellow  sound  of  the  distant  fall  and  the  sweet 
plaintive  cries  of  innumerable  wild  fowl  that  flew 
hither  and  thither,  or  revelled  in  the  security  of 
their  sedgy  homes.  Flocks  of  wild  geese  paesed 
in  constant  succession  overhead,  in  the  form  of 
acute  angles,  giving  a  few  trumpet  notes  now  and 
then,  as  if  to  advertise  their  passage  to  the  far 
north  to  the  dwellers  in  the  world  below.  Bustling 
teal  rose  in  groups  of  dozens  or  half-dozens  as  the 
red  canoe  broke  upon  their  astonished  gaze,  and 
sent  them,  with  whistling  wings,  up  or  down  the 
river.  A  solitary  northern  diver  put  up  his  long 
neck  here  and  there  to  gaze  for  an  instant  inquis- 
itively, and  then  sank,  as  if  forever,  into  the 
calm  water,  to  reappear  long  after  in  some  totally 
new  and  unexpected  quarter.  A  napping  duck  or 
two,  being  wellnigh  run  over  by  the  canoe,  took 
wing  with  a  tremendous  splutter  and  a  perfectly 
idiot ical  compound  of  a  quack  and  a  roar,  while 
numerous  flocks  of  plover,  which  had  evidently 
meant  to  lie  still  among  the  sedges  and  hide  while 
the  canoe  passed,  sprang  into  the  air  at  the  un- 
wonted hullabaloo,  and  made  off,  with  diverse 


\vii. 

A  hlrll    \\ 

i  ng  surprise  ; 
Of  tin1   trapjxTs    in    tin  ir 

as  tin*  canoe  ill 
DC    at    thr    i 

tkr    thr 

thr  r,  doubt 

ih'    in;  ;ive  one  short  gl 

UIll, 

6,  :t>  lit-  [( 

irii  —  hurrali     lor    th:it     thrn-    ^i 


TBE  AKTIBT'B  NARIIOW   KJHAPK  KKo*   TUB   BKAU. 


GIBAULT'S  PURSUIT  01?  A  GIUSLY  BEAU. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Gibault  has  an  Adveuture,  and  discovers  a  veiy  strange  Creature  in 
the  Woods.  —  A  most  tremendous  Bear-hunt  particularly  de- 
scribed. 

MEANWHILE,  Black  Gibault,  having  followed 
the  course  of  the  river  for  some  distance  on  foot, 
struck  into  the  woods,  sought  for  and  found  the 
track  of  the  bear,  and,  looking  carefully  to  the 
priming  of  his  gun,  and  knocking  the  edge  of  the 
flint  to  sharpen  it,  pushed  forward  in  pursuit 
with  the  ardor  of  a  reckless  man. 

Gibault  Noir  was  a  goose !  But  he  was  an 
amiable  goose ;  therefore  men  forgave  his  follies. 
Had  Gibault  not  been  a  goose  he  never  would 
have  set  off  alone  in  pursuit  of  a  grisly  bear 
when  he  had  comrades  who  might  have  accom- 
panied him.  Every  one  knows  —  at  least,  if 
every  one  does  not  know,  every  one  who  reads 
these  pages  may  know  henceforth  —  that  the 
grisly  bear  of  the  western  prairies  and  Rocky 
Mountains  is  one  of  the  most  desperate  mon- 
sters and  most  dreaded  animals  on  the  face  of 
the  earth ;  not  dreaded  merely  by  the  weak  and 
timorous,  but  dreaded  also  by  the  bravest  Indi- 
ans and  the  boldest  trappers.  Of  course  we  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  by  these  latter  the  grisly 


GO 

bear 

but   ii  ifd  \\  nh  thai   d< 

\\  h 

rr^iinl  BJ 

111(1     pOWrrflll    ril' 

I'ni  bear  scorns  to  ily 

. 
.  hr  will   main    litV    and 

aasailani 

(1  in  hi- 

;i  irrum, 

.ml  will 

mei 

Old 
\vh«>  h;ivr  Lr 

;r. 

r     the 

\\llcil     lliry    pa.- 


GIBAULT  LOSES  TRACK  OF  THE  BEAR.    61 

ground  that  did  not  take  a  good  impression.  At 
length  he  came  to  a  deep  gully  or  creek  where 
the  bushes  were  so  dense  that  he  could  not  see 
far  through  them  in  any  direction.  Here  he 
halted,  reexamined  his  priming,  and,  peering  cau- 
tiously through  the  underwood,  advanced  with 
much  greater  deliberation  and  care  than  hereto- 
fore. 

In  descending  the  gully,  Gibault  stumbled 
once  or  twice,  and  made  one  or  two  crashing 
bursts  through  bushes  that  would  have  proved 
quite  impervious  to  most  men.  After  much  toil, 
he  reached  the  bottom,  and,  standing  there,  up  to 
the  ankles  in  a  small  rivulet,  gazed  upward  at  the 
bank  he  had  now  to  ascend. 

"  Vraiment,  it  be  uncommonly  difficile,"  said 
he,  addressing  himself  to  the  task,  while  the  per- 
spiration began  to  roll  down  his  forehead. 

At  last  he  reached  the  top  of  the  bank  on  the 
other  side,  and,  after  panting  for  some  time,  be- 
gan to  look  for  the  bear's  footprints ;  but  these 
could  not  now  be  found.  In  his  scramble 
through  the  gully  he  had  lost  them,  and  the 
ground  on  the  side  he  had  just  reached  was  so 
hard  and  rocky  that  it  seemed  to  him  doubtful 
whether  it  was  capable  of  receiving  any  visible 
impression  from  a  bear's  paw.  It  was  just  pos- 
sible, too,  that  the  animal  had  found  the  descent 
of  the  gully  as  difficult  as  he  himself  had;  in 


Ti: 

it    was 
thoi.  rrminrd   to   inak 

tie   LTOUlld   \\  hrrr    lu- 
ll   quartrr   of    an    1; 

'  to  in-li. 
it  up 

>pot    \\li«r«-    ihc 

In-  \  up,     1  it  re  !"• 

!  — 

i«l  ;i   Mil 

man. 

'l>j)«'(l 

<1  hi-  Lrn;i  on  tin*  ground,  stooped  d« 
;  utinos:,  pursed 

low  \\histlr,  and   said  "  1 


GIBAULT   MEETS   A    STRANGER.  63 

his  right  hand,  scratched  the  point  of  his  nose, 
which,  being  too  red  naturally,  was  not  improved 
by  the  operation. 

None  of  these  acts  and  exclamations,  either 
collectively  or  singly,  seemed  to  afford  him  any 
enlightenment,  for  he  began  to  shake  his  head 
slowly  from  side  to  side,  as  if  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  whole  affair  was  utterly  be- 
yond his  limited  comprehension ;  then  he  started 
up,  shouldered  his  gun,  and  followed  the  track 
of  the  man  with  as  much  ardor  as  he  had  for- 
merly pursued  that  of  the  bear. 

Perseverance  is  almost  invariably  rewarded. 
This  would  seem  to  be  one  of  those  laws  of  na- 
ture which  fail  to  operate  only  on  very  rare  and 
peculiar  occasions.  Gibault  had  not  advanced 
more  than  a  hundred  yards  when  he  came  sud- 
denly upon  the  man  whose  feet  had  made  the 
tracks  he  had  been  following. 

"  The  Vild-Man-ov-de- Vest !  certainement !  " 
muttered  Black  Gibault,  slowly,  as  he  gazed  at 
the  creature  before  him,  and  quietly  cocked  his 
rifle  to  be  ready  for  any  emergency. 

Certainly  the  man  upon  whom  our  trapper  had 
stumbled  thus  suddenly  might  have  been  styled 
the  wild  man  of  any  region  —  west,  north,  east,  oj 
south,  —  with  perfect  propriety.  On  his  legs  were 
a  pair  of  dark  gray  fustian  trousers,  which  had 
seen  so  much  service  that,  from  the  knee  down- 
wards, they  were  torn  into  shreds.  His  feet  were 


inorraMiis.      Ii 

1C    of    thf    \rllo\V 

. 

riri. 
and    IrmiM'd    with    .-ralp-locks.      ( 

Th   :i   broad    brim   :ii: 

hni  .:   blur    > 

and  ViHitliful,  but  \\  ild  an 

. 
. 

. 

•nth  —  a 
tun-    bin  A-    was 

until     lie     had  hiu 

thir  .      Al,h 


DEFENSIVE   ATTITUDE   OF   THE    STRANGER.       65 

was  a  mystery  to  the  trapper,  to  one  a  little  more 
conversant  with  the  usages  of  civilized  life,  the 
open  book  on  the  knee,  the  easy  flow  of  the  pencil, 
and  the  occasional  use  of  a  piece  of  india-rubber, 
would  have  been  sufficient  evidence  that  the 
young  man  was  sketching  the  view  before  him. 

"  Ahem  !  "  coughed  Gibault. 

The  stranger  scattered  book,  pencil,  and  india- 
rubber  to  the  winds  (or  to  the  atmosphere,  for 
there  happened  to  be  no  wind  at  the  time),  and 
started  up.  In  doing  so,  he  showed  that  he  was 
at  least  a  tall,  if  not  a  stout  fellow.  Seizing  a 
pistol  with  one  hand  and  his  sword  with  the 
other,  he  presented  both  at  Gibault,  and  yelled, 
rather  than  shouted,  "  Stay !  halt !  stop  now,  my 
man:  drop  the  butt  of  your  gun,  else  I'll —  I'll 
blow  out  your  brains." 

Although  somewhat  startled  by  this  unusual 
mode  of  salutation,  the  trapper  had  sense  and 
quickness  enough  to  perceive  that  the  artist  was 
in  any  thing  but  a  warlike  state  of  mind,  and  that 
his  violent  demonstration  was  the  result  of  having 
been  startled ;  so,  pulling  off  his  cap  with  that 
native  politeness  which  is  one  of  the  character- 
istics of  the  French  Canadian,  he  advanced,  and 
said,  — 

"  Bon  jour,  monsieur.  I  ver'  moch  sorray  dat 
I  be  give  you  von  fright.  Pardon,  sair;  how 
you  do  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  —  thank  you,  good  fellow,'7  —  re- 
6* 


66  Tli  MAN    OP  THE   WK 

hand  w/ 

-•ssary.      Yon  are   a 
lan,  I  ?i; 

cause  to  be    }>n>n<; 

ing 

•iiii- 
ii,  my   i.' 

.    i    hali   not   tin, 
in'  dr  tracks  of 

«  What  !   a  g 
ii|)  with 

Wr    }.  joiii^ 

lUi  11}>   h  \  and  tli 

•  rials,  into  a  sma 


CONVERSATION  ABOUT  THE  EEAR.      67 

"  A  grisly  bear ! "  he  repeated.  "  Ha !  lead  on, 
good  fellow,  I  will  follow." 

Thus  urged,  Gibault,  without  further  loss  of 
time,  led  the  way  to  the  banks  of  the  river,  fol- 
lowed closely  by  his  new  friend,  who  stalked 
behind  him  with  long  ostrich-like  strides.  The 
semi -theatrical  air  of  the  artist  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  the  trapper.  Had  Gibault  known 
what  a  theatrical  air  was,  he  might  have  been 
immensely  tickled;  but,  being  what  he  w^as, — 
an  unsophisticated  son  of  the  wilderness,  —  he 
knew  nothing  about  such  airs,  and  therefore  re- 
garded his  companion  in  the  light  of  a  superior 
order  of  being,  or  a  madman ;  he  was  not  quite 
sure  which. 

In  a  few  minutes,  they  emerged  from  the 
bushes  and  came  out  upon  the  bank  of  the  river, 
which,  at  that  part,  was  high  and  precipitous, 
with  few  trees,  but  a  considerable  quantity  of 
underwood  on  the  slopes.  . 

"  Are  you  sure,  friend,  that  a  bear  has  been 
seen  by  you  ?  "  inquired  the  artist. 

"  Oui ;  m'ost  positavly  sure,  sair.  Ha !  an' 
here  be  him's  fut  encore.  I  have  lose  him  in  de 
vood.  Now,  monsieur,  have  your  pistol  ready." 

"  Lead  on,"  returned  the  artist.  "  I  have 
Longed  much  for  this  day.  To  shoot  an  indi- 
vidual of  this  ferocious  class  has  been  my  am- 
bition   .  Ho !  friend,  look  here.  Yonder 

object  seems  like  a  canoe.  Whence  comes  it. 


68  THE   WILD    MAN   OF  THE   WI> 


think  !  knov  . 

bo    <!«»    ii«»t    love    tin-  white: 


in 


•ion-irur,"  intrrruptr.l  (  111 

—  good  mans  an'  tn 

!>•  Y  < 

!    in    th«'   Im-hrs,   :i    little 
•*'  thrm.  ; 

;ilt  thr«".  1  thr  nn: 

.iin.       Ti; 
:,  :ui(l   tl, 

•I IT  <»r  iii 

- 

I  pointit, 

1    his 

. 

tin-  which  the  «j 

It 


VAIN   ATTEMPT    TO    KILL   THE   BEAR.  69 

about,  as  if  it  had  a  suspicion  that  enemies  were 
tracking  it.  Creeping  with  the  utmost  caution 
on  his  hands  and  knees,  Gibault  got  to  within 
forty  yards  of  the  monster,  whose  aspect  at  that 
moment  was  enough  to  try  the  courage  of  most 
men.  There  was  a  wicked  glare  in  his  little  eye, 
as  he  swayed  his  huge  body  from  side  to  side,  that 
indicated  but  too  clearly  the  savage  nature  of  his 
disposition.  Even  Gibault  felt  a  little  uneasy, 
and  began  to  think  himself  a  fool  for  having  ven- 
tured on  such  an  expedition  alone.  His  state  of 
mind  was  not  improved  by  the  sound  of  the 
artist's  teeth  chattering  in  his  head  like  cas- 
tanets. 

Taking  a  very  long  and  deliberate  aim  at  the 
bear's  heart,  he  pulled  the  trigger,  but  the  faith- 
less lock  of  his  old  flint-gun  missed  fire.  Without 
a  sign  of  annoyance  or  agitation,  the  trapper  re- 
cocked  the  gun,  again  pulled  the  trigger,  and 
with  the  same  result.  Three  times  this  occurred, 
and  at  each  click  of  the  lock  the  bear  cocked  his 
ears  inquiringly.  The  third  time,  he  rose  and 
sauntered  slowly  towards  the  spot  where  the  men 
lay  concealed. 

"  Stay,"  whispered  the  artist,  as  Gibault  was 
once  more  about  to  try  his  piece,  after  rubbing 
the  edge  of  his  flint  with  his  thumb-nail,  —  "  stay, 
I  will  fire." 

So  saying,  he  suddenly  pointed  a  pistol  straight 
at  the  advancing  monster  and  fired.  A  tremen- 


70  THE    WILD    MAN    OF   THE   WE- 

ih<'  leport 

.  :  ily.  "  Vat    hMili>hnrss  !   ;i 
.;;."       1  1--    tamed    ;it  on- 

was    >i 
llrd    thr    tr:: 

'!l;ir. 

the 
iH-iniT   1' 

•nun.  -II 

-<K)n  pa»srd    him  ;   hi. 
hfiir  r;r 

he  slugs  with  \\ 

their-  B   >hrul)  ' 

>1   his  g 
priii 

he  bunk   of  the   i 


RUNNING   FOR   LIFE.  71 

above  them,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  exact  spot 
to  which  they  ought  to  hurry. 

"  I  see  no  smoke,"  said  March  Marston,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  anxiety. 

"  Gibault's  gun  did'nt  use  for  to  bark  in  that 
sort  oj  voice,"  observed  Bounce. 

"  I  do  b'lieve  that  bar's  got  Jim,"  cried  Big 
Waller,  bounding  forward. 

He  had  not  taken  a  second  bound  when  the 
artist,  flying  at  full  speed  about  three  hundred 
yards  up  the  river,  burst  upon  the  astonished 
vision  of  the  party.  His  sombrero  had  blown  off, 
his  long  hair  streamed  straight  behind  him,  so 
did  the  scalp  locks  on  his  coat,  and  so  did  his 
long  cloak  which  was  fastened  to  his  neck  by  a 
clasp,  and  which,  in  his  present  panting  and  rush- 
ing condition,  wellnigh  strangled  him. 

Before  the  wonder-stricken  trappers  had  time 
to  remark  on  this  singular  apparition,  or  to  form 
any  opinion  in  regard  to  it,  poor  Gibault  came 
tearing  round  the  point  like  a  maniac,  with  the 
bear  close  upon  his  heels.  This  was  enough. 
The  backwoodsmen  no  longer  showed  any  signs 
of  surprise  or  hesitancy.  A  grisly  bear  wras  a  fa- 
miliar object  —  a  comrade  in  imminent  danger 
was  equally  so.  They  sprang  forward  to  meet 
the  fugitives. 

By  this  time  the  cloak  had  so  retarded  and 
strangled  the  poor  artist,  that  he  had  fallen  a  pace 
or  two  behind  Gibault,  and  it  seemed  almost 


WILD    M 

pprrs   could    kiii 

,    ihrir    \i.-\v. 

;hrr  thr  in- 

ly    divided 

:i     liitlf    to    ill- 
1    our    IMTO 

'    til--    llyiiii:   IIHMI     |>ass    ': 
•  •;ir  on  b 

. 
i 

t>«-;ir  :in 

. 

r.-  \\  ho  h;i«l  fired  wer 

\\  ith  ilic  utn  • 
\\"ii 


THE   BEAK   MORTALLY   WOUNDED.  73 

tives  had  each  sprung  into  the  bush,  and  found  a 
place  of  concealment.  Redhand  on  the  one  side, 
and  Bounce  on  the  other,  had  reserved  their  fire ; 
the  wisdom  of  this  was  now  shown.  The  bear 
made  a  rush  at  the  bushes  on  one  side,  and  in- 
stantly received  a  shot  from  the  other.  It  turned 
at  once  to  rush  on  the  concealed  enemy  there, 
but,  before  it  had  made  a  stride  in  that  direction, 
another  ball  was  lodged  in  it  from  the  opposite 
side.  The  vacillations  thus  produced  gave  the 
other  trappers  time  to  reload,  and,  before  it  had 
made  up  its  mind  which  to  attack,  another  volley 
was  fired,  and  three  balls  took  effect,  Redhand 
and  Bounce  still  reserving  their  fire  as  at  the 
first. 

The  impotent  fury  of  the  creature  was  now 
awful  to  behold.  It  was  mortally  wounded ; 
there  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  that,  for  the  trap- 
pers were  all  pretty  good  shots  and  knew  where 
to  fire,  but  they  had  not  succeeded  yet  in  reach- 
ing the  seat  of  life.  One  ball  had  broken  the 
bear's  shoulder  and  the  blood  flowed  from  its 
wounds,  while  churned  blood  and  foam  dropped 
from  its  jaws. 

Before  another  volley  could  be  fired  it  made  a 
furious  rush  at  the  three  men  who  had  kept 
away  to  the  left,  namely,  Big  Waller,  Bounce, 
and  March.  There  was  no  help  for  it ;  not  hav- 
ing completed  their  loading,  they  had  to  drop 
their  guns  and  run.  We  have  already  said  that 


\\1LD    M 

W   ihfrr    h;i«i  .        It 

it   thry  1. 
80,  '  :>hrr   ji,  ,  the 

the:  .       Thr  h;uik 

1    \vas    fully    t\\. 

:i-l  sank.     M 

with  Ji  b«>lil  un- 
Uf  \vas  ^< 
tht  h  in 

!<•'-.          'I 

in  ;i  mi: 

\vii!  of  Mar> 

i:uid  w:is  :tr  illc  —  an 

-   in   ni:ii 
ind     \\ilh    I; 

i    :iii'i    i, 
'1'hc  hii  ;ruc.      I1 


75 


bear's  head,  and  the  lifeless  carcase  floated  down 
the  stream.  The  three  men,  instantly  observing 
the  effect  of  the  shot,  turned  round,  and,  swim- 
ming towards  their  late  enemy,  laid  hold  of  him, 
and  dragged  and  pushed  him  with  some  difficulty 
toward  the  shore. 

Meanwhile  Black  Gibault,  who  had  issued  from 
his  hiding-place  and  had  witnessed  Redhand's 
successful  shot,  began  to  caper  and  dance  and 
shout  in  the  exuberance  of  his  glee.  Most  men 
are  apt  to  suffer  when  they  give  way  to  extrava- 
gant action  of  any  kind.  Gibault  forgot  that  he 
was  on  the  edge  of  an  overhanging  bank.  The 
concussion  with  which'  he  came  to  the  ground 
after  the  performance  of  a  peculiarly  complicated 
pirouette  broke  off  the  edge  of  the  bank,  and  he 
was  precipitated  headlong  into  the  river,  just  a 
yard  or  so  from  the  spot  where  his  comrades 
were  engaged  in  landing  the  bear. 

A  loud  laugh  greeted  his  sudden  and  unex- 
pected descent.  Scrambling  on  shore,  and  laying 
hold  of  the  bear's  tail,  he  exclaimed  — 

Hah  !  mes  gar^ons,  heave  away.  I  have  come 
down  for  to  give  you  leetle  help.  Splenderous 
bear !  Pull  avay !  " 

The  bear  was  then  dragged  out  of  the  water 
and  stretched  upon  the  green  sward,  where  for 
some  time  the  trappers  stood  round  it  in  a  pic- 
turesque group,  commenting  upon  its  size  and 
appearance,  and  remarking  upon  the  various  in- 
cidents of  the  chase. 


WILD    MAX    OF    IE 

As  T  r  bear 

\vill 

.      On   its  hind   Irp*  r 

10 

iiirh'1-.      It  \v:is  \vhity-l>ro\\n  in  color,  and 

A  dl 

. 

Her 

;it  t !  :•!  rind  i< 

"  \\ 


HOSPITALITY   EXTENDED    TO    THE   ARTIST.        77 

starin'  at  him,"  said  Redhand,  "  so  you'd  better 
go  and  pick  up  yer  guns  and  things,  while 
Bounce  and  I  skin  this  feller  and  cut  off  his 
claws." 

The  party  separated  at  once,  and  the  artist, 
who  seemed  a  little  disappointed  at  being  thus 
checked  in  his  work,  no  sooner  observed  the 
flaying  process  begin  than  he  turned  over  the 
leaf  of  his  book,  and  began  a  new  sketch. 

Not  many  minutes  were  required  for  the  skin- 
ning of  the  bear.  When  it  was  done,  it,  along 
with  all  the  scattered  things,  was  placed  in  the 
canoe,  and  then  Redhand,  approaching  the  artist, 
touched  his  cap  and  said  — 

"  You  have  shared  our  hunt  to-day,  sir ;  may- 
hap you'll  not  object  to  share  our  camp  and  our 
supper." 

"  Most  willingly,  my  good  friend,"  replied  the 
artist,  rising  and  holding  out  his  hand,  which  the 
trapper  shook  heartily.  "  You  seem  to  be  trap- 
pers." 

"  We  are,  sir,  at  your  service.  It's  gettin'  late 
and  we've  a  good  bit  to  go  yet,  before  we  come 
to  the  place  where  we  mean  to  camp,  so  you'd 
better  come  at  once." 

"  Certainly ;  by  all  means ;  let  us  embark 
without  delay,"  replied  the  artist,  pocketing  his 
sketch-book. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  Redhand  with  some 
hesitation,  "  are  you  alone  ?  " 


lii:n  —  ••  1    ! 

••  \\  '  .    th.» 

. 

••Hi!*!  IK!  rlirri 

!<'(!    tin 

ii  \\  liirli 


FIERY   REMARKS    AND    COGITATIONS.  79 


CHAPTER    V. 

Fiery  Remarks  and  Cogitations. — Round  the  Camp  Fire.  —  The 
Artist  gives  an  Account  of  Himself  —  Value  of  a  Sketch-Book 
—  Discoveries  and  Dark  Threats.  —  The  Bears'-claw  Collar. 

THERE  is  no  doubt  whatever  that  a  western 
trapper  knows  how  to  make  a  fire.  That  is  an 
axiomatic  certainty.  He  also  knows  how  to 
enjoy  it.  He  is  thoroughly  conversant  with  it  in 
all  its  phases,  and  with  all  the  phenomena  con- 
nected with  it,  from  the  bright  little  spark  that 
flies  from  his  flint  and  steel  and  nestles  on  his 
piece  of  tinder,  to  the  great  rolling  flame  that 
leaps  up  among  the  branches  of  the  forest  trees, 
roaring  lustily  as  it  goes  out  upon  the  night  air, 
like  a  mighty  spirit  set  free  from  some  diminutive 
prison-house,  rejoicing  in  being  once  more  per- 
mitted to  reassume  its  original  .grand  dimensions, 

Yes,  a  western  trapper  has  a  grand,  a  massive 
notion  of  a  fire,  and  his  actions  are  all  in  keeping 
with  that  notion.  Almost  every  thing  is  small  at 
the  fountain.  A  mighty  river  usually  begins  in  a 
bubbling  spring  or  a  tiny  rivulet.  So  the  trapper's 
initial  acts  are  delicate.  He  handles  the  tinder 
gently,  and  guards  it  from  damp.  Pie  fosters  the 
spark,  when  caught,  and  blows  upon  it  softly,  and 


80  .1)   MAN   01 

up   in  <! 
as  a  mother  mi 

ibe.     But  when 
cam  !  of  1'rtle   dry  twi<:> 

of  brok' 
.     be   tripper'.-  eh;t: 

. 
ng, 

-own, 

•-  •:-  ••*. 

Ih'  d   ot     1 ! 

Nrin^s    '*• 

the  pl:»5ii 
li    niassi 

i  tiie  abstraei  to  tin 
that   whether   th 
.••nil    pro. 

. 

•ilinrly    Lrif:<  <1    in    th:»r.      (  >n 
th»  cn- 

:t  individuiil 


A  TRAPPER'S  FIRE.  81 

derous  axe  and  felled  the  trees  around  him  in  a 
way  that  would  have  paled  the  ineffectual  fires  of 
Ulysses  himself,  and  would  probably  have  induced 
that  hero  not  only  to  cease  cutting  trees,  but  to 
commence  cutting  his  stick  thenceforth  from  the 
field  of  competition !  March  Marston  meanwhile 
kindled  the  spark  and  nursed  the  infant  flame. 
The  others  busied  themselves  in  the  various  occu- 
pations of  the  camp.  Some  cut  down  pine 
branches,  and  strewed  them  a  foot  deep  in  front 
of  the  fire,  and  trod  them  down  until  a  soft  elastic 
couch  was  formed  on  which  to  spread  their  blan- 
kets. Others  cut  steaks  of  venison  and  portions 
of  the  grisly  bear,  and  set  them  up  on  the  end  of 
sticks  before  the  fire  to  roast,  and  others  made 
fast  and  secured  the  canoe  and  her  lading. 

The  artist,  seating  himself  beside  the  fire,  just 
near  enough  to  profit  by  the  light,  but  far  enough 
away  to  obtain  a  general  view  of  every  thing  and 
everybody,  proceeded  with  enthusiasm  to  sketch 
the  whole  affair,  collectively  and  in  detail.  He 
devoted  his  chief  attention,  however,  to  Big 
Waller.  He  "  caught "  that  gigantic  Yankee  in 
every  conceivable  action  and  attitude.  He  photo- 
graphed him,  we  might  almost  say,  with  his  legs 
apart,  the  hatchet  high  above  his  head,  and  every 
muscle  tense  and  rigid,  preliminary  to  a  sweeping 
blow.  He  "  took  "  him  with  a  monstrous  pile  of 
logs  on  his  brawny  shoulder ;  he  portrayed  him 
resting  for  a  moment  in  the  midst  of  his  toil ;  he 


le    until 

him  ilia! 
n    In-   shut    uj)    i. 

infinite 

- 
. 

\\  r 


. 

:nd 

.    . 


SUPPER   IN   THE   WILDERNESS.  83 

in  particular  looked  him,  figuratively  speaking, 
through  and  through.  He  did  not  remove  his 
eyes  off  him  for  an  instant,  but  devoured  his  food 
with  somewhat  the  expression  of  a  dog  that 
expects  his  bone  to  be  snatched  from  him. 

"  Try  a  duck,"  said  March  Marston  to  the 
artist,  observing  that  he  had  finished  his  steak. 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  the  artist,  accepting 
the  proffered  bird  which  happened  to  be  a  teal, 
and  beginning  to  carve  it  with  a  pen-knife.  He 
had  no  fork,  but  used  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand 
instead. 

Silence  again  ensued. 

"  Try  another,"  said  March  again. 

The  artist  hesitated. 

"  You'd  better ;  it's  a  fat  un." 

"  N — no.  No ! "  said  the  artist,  shutting  up 
his  knife  with  an  air  of  decision.  "  No,  thank 
you,  I  always  advocate  moderation,  and  it  would 

ill  become  me  to  set  an  example  of  glut ah, 

of  the  reverse. 

"  Wai,  stranger,"  said  Waller,  who,  having 
finished  eating,  wiped  his  mouth  with  a  tuft  of 
grass,  and  began  to  fill  his  pipe.  "  You  do  come 
out  in  the  way  o'  moderation  rather  powerful. 
Why  a  teal  duck  an'  a  ven'son  steak  is  barely 
enough  to  stop  a  feller  dyin'  right  off.  I  guess  a 
down-east  baby  o'  six  months  old  Jud  swab  up 
that  an'  ax  for  more." 

"  Nevertheless   it   is   quite    enough   for   rne," 


84 

mon  . 

in  ill-  ir  i 

,  to 
tin; 

it. 
••  \V  <>at  yer  till  \vYn  yr  L'i 

M  I 

••  \\ 

>   to   kli« 

dl<  <1.     M  M\  i :;-•  iiiual  was  < 

;uilt  ; 
ur  face 

•  •  :iini  looking  :i: 
with  much  i;  1  with  j 

:    OFI    :i    i 
of  a   li< 

it    \va- 
ch." 
(  )n  hand   on 


THEODORE    BERTRAM.  85 

his  stomach,  as  if  the  mere  thought  of  such  a 
delicately-minute  breakfast  caused  him  pain  in 
that  region. 

"  I  say,  stranger,"  broke  in  Waller,  in  a  tone 
of  voice  that  seemed  to  imply  that  he  was  deter- 
mined to  be  at  the  bottom  of  this  mystery  and 
would  stand  it  no  longer — "  Wot's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Theodore  Bertram,"  replied  the  artist,  without 
hesitation. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  England." 

"  Where  air  you  ago  in'  to  ?  " 

"  To  the  Rocky  Mountains." 

«  Wot  for  to  do  there  ?  " 

"  You  are  inquisitive,  friend,"  said  Bertram, 
smiling ;  "  but  I  have  no  reason  for  concealing 
my  object  in  travelling  here,  —  it  is  to  sketch,  and 
shoot,  and  take  notes,  and  witness  the  works  of 
the  Almighty  in  the  wilderness.  I  hold  it  to  be 
an  object  worthy  the  ambition  of  a  great  man  to 
act  the  part  of  pioneer  to  the  missionary  and  the 
merchant  in  nature's  wildest  and  most  inacces- 
sible regions;  and  although  I  pretend  not  to 
greatness,  I  endeavor,  humbly,  to  do  what  I 
can." 

"  No  one  can  do  more  than  that,"  said  Red- 
hand,  regarding  the  young  enthusiast  with  inter- 
est. "  But  surely  you  have  not  travelled  to  this 
out-o'-the-way  place  without  a  guide  ?  " 

Bertram  pointed  up  to  the  stars. 


Mj 

ain't  al 

••  Fm--i!-:i<lrrs   in    the  mJiT  mo 

}io\v  to   asrrriain    ti.- 

So  sayiiii:  h«i  j)ull' 

inii'T  p.- 

•.ill  it  kill  gam.  .      1 1 

in    ;  now  tl. 

,<>ul<l   (1. 

l    >rrn   //< 

ill  !  '' 


MG11E   A130UT   THE    WILD    MAX.  87 

Man  of  the  West  at  all !  The  bare  possibility  of 
such  a  crushing  blow  to  all  his  romantic  hopes 
and  dreams  caused  his  heart  to  sink.  Bertram 
observed  the  change  in  his  countenance,  and, 
quickly  divining  the  cause,  added,  "  But  I  am  of 
a  sceptical  turn  of  mind,  and  do  not  easily  believe 
unless  I  see.  There  is  one  thing  I  have  observed, 
however,  which  is  in  favor  of  his  existence." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  inquired  March,  brightening 
up. 

"  That  the  nearer  one  comes  to  'his  reputed 
dwelling-place,  this  wild  man  assumes  smaller 
and  more  natural  proportions.  I  first  heard  of  him 
in  the  Red  River  Prairies,  where  he  is  held  to  be 
a  giant  who  devours  men  as  well  as  brutes.  As 
I  came  nearer  to  the  Missouri,  I  found  that  the 
people  there  do  not  believe  him  to  be  either  a 
cannibal  or  a  giant,  but  assert  that  he  is  an  enor- 
mously tall  and  powerful  man,  exceedingly  fierce 
and  the  sworn  enemy  of  the  whole  human  race ; 
a  species  of  Cain,  whose  hand  is  against  every 
man  and  every  man's  hand  against  him.  The 
last  white  man  I  met  —  about  two  weeks  ago  — 
told  me  he  had  been  with  a  tribe  of  Indians,  some 
of  whom  had  seen  him,  and  they  said  that  he  was 
indeed  awfully  wild,  but  that  he  was  not  cruel, — 
on  the  contrary,  he  had  been  known  to  have  per- 
formed one  or  two  kind  deeds  to  some  who  had 
fallen  into  his  power." 

"  Most  astonishin' !  "  exclaimed  GibauJt,  who 


ss 

Wild  .M 

Th'  D 

. — 
.     lunr    (! 

Up   without    <pr;ikh: 

- 

bree,  h«-  said,  — 

*  I 

Bfl      I     ': 

. 

. 

- 
. 

:l.       \\'i; 

' 

i ifii  \\  iii 
slitui 
Uj>  t! 
ambitioiL     i-'or  th.tt  \>\. 

'I     Oil     (jli 

•  hind  \\  Bfl  unlxMiii.ird.       hut " 

Bertnu 


BERTRAM   TELLS   HIS    STORY.  89 

glowing  embers  of  the  camp-fire  with  an  expres- 
sion that  led  the  trappers  to  infer  that  experience 
had  somewhat  moderated  his  enthusiasm.  After 
a  few  minutes  he  resumed :  — 

"  I  have  done  wrong  to  make  this  venture  alone. 
On  reaching  Canada  I  succeeded,  through  the 
kindness  of  the  governor  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  in  obtaining  a  passage  in  one  of  the 
company's  canoes  through  that  series  of  rivers  and 
lakes  by  which  the  fur-traders  penetrate  into  the 
regions  of  the  far  north.  Arrived  at  Red  River 
Settlement,  I  pushed  forward  on  horeback  over 
the  plains  with  a  small  party  of  horsemen  to  the 
head-waters  of  the  Saskatchwan.  Here  I  suc- 
ceeded in  engaging  a  party  of  twelve  men,  com- 
posed of  half-breeds  and  Indians,  and  set  out  on 
a  journey  of  exploration  over  the  prairies  toward 
the  Rocky  Mountains.  Circumstances  led  me  to 
modify  my  plans.  We  diverged  towards  the  south, 
and  finally  came  to  within  a  few  days'  journey  of 
the  region  in  which  we  now  are.  We  were  sud- 
denly surprised  one  night  by  a  war-party  of 
Blackfoot  Indians.  My  men  had  grown  careless. 
They  neglected  to  keep  a  strict  watch,  and  before 
we  were  aware  that  danger  threatened  us,  all  our 
horses  were  carried  off. 

"  This  was  a  terrible  calamity.  My  men  de- 
clared that  it  was  impossible  to  advance  without 
horses,  and  refused  to  accompany  me  any  further. 
I  remonstrated  in  vain,  then,  filled  with  indigna- 

8* 


Till:    \\IIA*    MAN   OF  THE   WE 

.nicy  alone, 
oi  ih  .  \vlio  \vjt.- 

Aith 
hin..  I  frit  > 

iplished 

:  >o    hr 

;i*h  gam- 

:ilint     kill     i:.       1 

:llr||    ill   ' 

. 

irrillij    <  ;n|)1  —  \ 

llir    >ini|)lr- 
in   a   tr 

in    which    hr    \\ 

\V:illrr.   • 

' 

•  \\  ith  a  i 

i .       I  1 1 1  ~~ 

: 


BIG   WALLER   IN   A   BOOK.  91 

enterprise  to  open  it  up.  I  mean  to  take  notes 
and  sketches,  and,  if  spared,  return  to  my  native 
land  and  publish  the  result  of  my  observations. 
I  do  not,  indeed,  expect  that  the  public  will  buy 
my  work ;  but  I  shall  publish  a  large  edition  at 
my  own  cost,  and  present  copies  to  all  the  influ- 
ential men  in  the  kingdom." 

The  trappers  opened  their  eyes  wider  than  ever 
at  this. 

"  What !     Make  a  book  ?  "  cried  Redhand. 

«  Even  so." 

"  Will  it  have  pictures  ?  "  eagerly  asked  March, 
who  regarded  the  artist  with  rapidly  increasing 
veneration. 

"  Ay,  it  will  be  profusely  illustrated." 

"Wot!  pictures  o'  grisly  bears?"  inquired 
Bounce. 

"  Of  course." 

"  An'  men  ?  "  cried  Big  Waller. 

"  And  men  also,  if  I  fall  in  with  them." 

"  Then  here's  one,  I  guess,"  cried  the  bold 
Yankee,  combing  out  his  matted  locks  hastily 
with  his  fingers,  and  sitting  up  in  what  he  con- 
ceived to  be  a  proper  position.  "  Here  you  are, 
sir.  I'm  your  man ;  fix  me  off  slick.  Only 
think  !  Big  Waller  in  a  book  —  a  raal  book !  " 

He  chuckled  immensely  at  the  bright  prospect 
of  immortality  that  had  suddenly  opened  up  to 
him. 

"I  have  drawn  you  already,  friend,"  said 
Bertram. 


.!)   MAN   OF    TI1K    \ 


••  ! 

g   his 
the  ir:ij>i" 
\vitli  nnmitiirair 

. 

\vas    almos; 
Imr-'  'iitrollal>! 

(lflii:iiT.      II  ivrcpiujr  Nviii, 

bod  .as  so  tr<  in 

1  — 

HIT  diilu't    hrar  him  ;   so 

for  :i    lunir   ; 

In    tho.-r 

. 

nh   what   <!• 


FINDS   A   FACE   HE   KNOWS.  93 


beheld  scenes  of  their  own  beloved  woods  and 
prairies,  as  well  as  their  own  rough  forms,  vividly 
sketched  by  a  master-hand.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  points  in  the  inspection  of  the  sketch- 
book was,  that  old  Redhand  recognized  almost 
every  one  of  the  landscapes  as  spots  with  which 
he  was  well  acquainted  ;  and  as  Bertram  had 
sketched  most  diligently  as  he  travelled  along, 
Redhand  told  him  that  by  the  aid  of  that  book, 
without  compass  or  any  thing  else,  he  could  trace 
his  route  backward,  step  by  step,  to  the  Saskatch- 
wan  river.  Moreover,  he  described  to  the  artist 
accurately  many  scenes  which  were  near  to  those 
he  had  sketched,  and  gradually  fell  to  talking 
about  adventures  and  rencontres  he  had  had  in 
many  of  them,  so  that  at  last  it  became  evident 
there  would  be  no  proposal  to  go  to  rest  that 
night  at  all  unless  some  wise  one  of  the  party 
should  remind  the  others  that  another  day's  toil 
lay  before  them  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours. 

At  length  they  took  up  their  pipes,  which  had 
been  forgotten  in  the  excitement,  and  refilled 
them  with  the  intention  of  having  a  last  quiel 
whiff  before  lying  down. 

"  Ho  !  "  exclaimed  Redhand,  who  still  con- 
tinued to  turn  over  the  pages  of  the  book, 
"  here's  a  face  I  know.  Where  saw  ye  that 
Indian  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  easily  tell  where  it  was  we  met 
him;  but  I  remember  well  that  it  was  just  a 


91  WILI»    M 


our    hurs'-s 
••  \\Vre  there  others  with  him  .'  " 

••Nil  a1  , 

donbl 

hi! 

I     to    tllr 

th<  ••  Did      lie     ch:u.. 

i  — 

:i-    miirli.     A  greater  tliief   :m<l 

;    hr'<    :ilw;iy-    Lr 
Bf  NOM  th'nk.      I  Kn- 


GIBAULT   IN   LOVE   WITH   A   NECKLACE.          95 

expect  you  to  carry  me  along  with  you  for  the 
purpose  of  redressing  my  wrongs." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy  on  that  pint,"  returned 
Redhand,  "  we'll  talk  of  it  in  the  mornm'." 

While  the  old  trapper  and  the  artist  were  con- 
versing, Bounce  had  busied  himself  in  stringing 
the  claws  of  the  grisly  bear  on  a  strip  of  deer- 
skin, for  the  purpose  of  making  a  collar.  A 
necklace  of  this  description  is  very  highly  prized 
among  Indians,  especially  when  the  claws  are 
large. 

While  it  was  being  made,  Gibault  sighed  so 
deeply  once  or  twice,  that  March  suggested  he 
must  be  in  love. 

«  So  I  is,"  sighed  Gibault, 

"  That's  interesting,"  remarked  March ;  "  who 
with?" 

"  Ay,  that's  it,"  said  Bounce ;  "  out  with  her 
name,  lad.  No  one  ought  never  to  be  ashamed 
o'  bein'  in  love.  It's  a  glorious  state  o'  mind  an' 
body  as  a  feller  should  gratilate  hisself  on  havin'. 
Who  be  ye  in  love  wi',  lad  ?  " 

"  Vid  dat  necklace,"  replied  Gibault,  sighing 
again  heavily. 

"  Oh !  if  that's  all,  ye  don't  need  to  look  so 
blue,  for  it's  yer  own  by  rights,"  said  Bounce. 
"  I'm  jist  doin'  it  up  for  ye." 

"  Non  ;  it  cannot  be  mine,"  returned  Gibault. 

"  How  so  ?  "  inquired  Waller,  "  ye  arned  it, 
didn't  ye  ?  Drew  first  blood  I  calc'late." 


96 

-3  blood. 

tLTtin  n- 

1    \V;til«  r. 
•!*!     Trll    us    that  .       Come,     I' 

. 
t  tin-  1>»  ar,  Imi  it  seemed 

llrll- 
16   lliiiiLr 

•  . 

.nurd  \\ 

iv  \\  hie:  iruih,  h«- 

.s  to  possess. 

pate, 


THE  CAMP  BUBIED  IN  KEPOSE.        97 

each  man  rolled  himself  in  his  blanket  and  lay 
down  to  sleep  with  his  feet  to  the  fire.  Being  in 
a  part  of  the  country  where  there  were  very  few 
Indians,  and  these  few  on  pretty  good  terms  with 
the  white  trappers,  no  watch  was  set.  Bertram 
lay  down  with  his  tattered  cloak  around  him, 
and,  taking  a  little  book  from  his  pocket,  read  it, 
or  appeared  to  read  it,  till  he  fell  asleep,  —  on 
observing  which,  March  Marston  crept  noise- 
lessly to  his  side,  and,  lying  gently  down  be- 
side him,  covered  him  with  a  portion  of  his 
own  blanket.  Ere  long  the  camp  was  buried  in 
repose. 


WILD    SI  WEST. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

The  Dangers  of  the   Wilderness.  — An  Unexpected   Cat/ut: 

.  necessitates  a  Change  of  Plans.  — A  Descent  upon  Robbers 
I»oeed  and  agreed  to. 

\v  passages  in  th  more 

i  is  —  ••  \ 
hrini:  1"' 
imrrrt  tinty    of    iub  liings    is    pr. 

lll«T     ill     thr  llir    \\  ildrn.  'h«T 

:iir   t  (>-<!; 

licity  in 

10    be    found    in   thr    \\  il 
- !    (  >n 


MARCH  MARSTON'S  REVERIE.  99 

he  awoke  refreshed,  invigorated,  and  buoyant  with 
a  feeling  of  youthful  strength  and  health.  Start- 
ing up,  he  met  the  glorious  sun  face  to  face,  as  it 
rose  above  the  edge  of  a  distant  blue  hill,  and  the 
meeting  almost  blinded  him.  There  was  a  saffron 
hue  over  the  eastern  landscape  that  caused  it  to 
appear  like  the  plains  of  Paradise.  Lakelets  in 
the  prairies  glittered  in  the  midst  of  verdant 
foliage ;  ponds  in  the  hollows  lay,  as  yet  unillu- 
mined,  like  blots  of  ink;  streams  and  rivulets 
gleamed  as  they  flowed  round  wooded  knolls,  or 
sparkled  silvery  white  as  they  leaped  over  rocky 
obstructions.  The  noble  river,  on  the  banks  of 
which  the  camp  had  been  made,  flowed  with  a 
calm  sweep  through  the  richly-varied  country  — 
refreshing  to  look  upon  and  pleasant  to  hear,  as 
it  murmured  on  its  way  to  join  the  "  Father  of 
waters."  The  soft  roar  of  a  far-distant  cataract 
was  heard  mingling  with  the  cries  of  innumerable 
water-fowl  that  had  risen  an  hour  before  to  enjoy 
the  first  breathings  of  the  young  day.  To  March 
Marston's  ear  it  seemed  as  though  all  Nature, 
animate  and  inanimate,  were  rejoicing  in  the 
beneficence  of  its  Creator. 

The  youth's  reverie  was  suddenly  broken  by 
the  approach  of  Theodore  Bertram. 

"  Good  morrow,  friend,"  said  the  latter,  grasp- 
ing March's  hand  and  shaking  it  heartily.  "  You 
are  early  astir.  Oh,  what  a  scene !  What  heavenly 
colors !  What  a  glorious  expanse  of  beauty !  " 


WILD  MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 

he   was 

9fl  sueli  a  scene  as  t! 
•  •li   eon- 

rani  tumr<l  his  eyes  on  his  co;  i.  and, 

. 

t   rose/'  he  said,  stooping  ea 

il  it, 

. 
And  waste  it*  sweetoeaB  on  the  desert  I 

••  1 1- 

was   a   good 

iose  is  wasted  h< 

inert  th-  iat,  as  far  a^ 

"  •  < 


CONVERSATION  ABRUPTLY  TERMINATED.   101 

his  nose  (a  difficult  feat,  by  the  way,  for  his  nose 
by  nature  turned  down).  "  An'  pray  what's 
<  civilized  man  '  that  he  should  think  every  thing's 
wasted  that  don't  go  in  at  his  own  eyes,  ur  up 
his  own  nose,  or  down  his  own  throat?  eh!  ' 
Bertram  laughed  slightly  (he  never  laughed 
heartily).  "  You  are  a  severe  critic,  friend." 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care,  what  sort  o' 
cricket  I  am ;  but  this  I  do  know,  that  roses  are 
as  little  wasted  here  as  in  your  country  —  may- 
hap not  so  much.  Why,  I  tell  ye  I've  seen  the 
bars  smell  'em." 

"  Indeed." 

"  Ay,  an'  eat  'em  too  !  " 

"  That  was  not  taking  a  poetical  view  of 
them,"  suggested  Bertram. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  it  was  uncommonly  prac- 
tical ;  "  returned  March,  laughing. 

The  conversation  was  abruptly  terminated  at 
this  point  by  a  flock  of  wild  ducks,  which,  igno- 
rant of  the  presence  of  the  two  youths,  swept 
close  past  their  heads  with  a  startling  whirr. 
The  artist  leaped  backwards,  and  March,  partly 
in  the  exuberant  glee  of  his  heart,  and  partly  to 
relieve  his  own  startled  feelings,  gave  utterance 
to  a  hideous  yell. 

"  Hi !  hallo !  "  roared  Big  Waller,  starting  up 
and  replying  to  the  yell  with  compound  interest. 
"  Wot's  to  do  ?  Bars  or  savages  —  which  ? 
Oh !  savages  I  see,"  he  added,  rubbing  his  eyes, 

9* 


il:t! 
lad. 

1  as  tilt   - 

-  hat  sort,  as  can  lau^ 

'iily  beast  a>  > 

cas<  'niin^  —  at   Irast  among  lu'alihy 

tongues    an 

. 

:i«-n    an 

thry  \\rrf  in  iln-ir    j 
1  Ir  vi  Bfl 

the 


MODE  OP  PROCEEDING  SETTLED.      103 

that  there  was  a  rapid  of  considerable  length  and 
strength,  which  boiled  furiously  among  the  rocks, 
and  seemed  to  be  impassable  to  a  canoe.  After 
close  inspection  of  it,  however,  Redhand  and 
Bounce,  who  were  tacitly  recognized  as  joint 
leaders  of  the  party,  agreed  that  the  canoe  could 
easily  enough  be  hauled  up  by  means  of  a  line, 
To  make  a  long  portage,  and  so  avoid  the  whole 
obstruction,  was  desirable  ;  but  the  precipitous 
nature  of  the  banks  at  that  place  rendered  the 
carrying  of  the  canoe  and  goods  a  work  not  only 
of  severe  labor,  but  of  considerable  danger. 

The  mode  of  proceeding  having  been  settled, 
all  hands  went  to  work  without  delay.  The 
goods  were  carried  to  the  top  of  the  fall,  which 
was  about  fifteen  feet  high,  then  the  canoe  was 
shouldered  by  Waller  and  Bounce,  and  soon  it 
floated  in  a  calm  eddy  near  the  head  of  the  cata- 
ract. Having  replaced  the  cargo,  a  strong  line 
or  rope  was  fastened  to  the  bows,  and  Redhand 
and  Bounce  proceeded  to  take  their  places  in  the 
canoe,  in  order  to  guide  it  through  the  rapid, 
while  the  others  were  engaged  in  hauling  on  the 
track-line. 

"  Stay,"  cried  March  Marston,  as  Bounce  was 
stepping  in,  "  let  me  go  in  the  canoe,  Bounce. 
You  know  well  enough  that  I  can  manage  it ; 
besides,  you're  a  heavy  buffalo,  and  more  able  to 
track  than  I." 

"  Nay,  lad,"  replied  Bounce,  shaking  his  head, 


V         . 

11  Y<  run  tli-  n  — 

if  woi> 
thaffl  too  bud.      D'ye  think  nobody  can 

go." 

-lung 

- 

Were 

.  aware  of  \\  h;it  |  h  was  al> 

\oe  oil'. 

»<M'(1  the  still  \\ 

i  nd  was 
.1  on  the  line  \vi; 

brink    of    the    fall.      In    a    ^eeond,   1 
i^er  was  pa>'  iittin^  their  >ir« 

(ragged  • 
up-.-treain,   \\  h; 

gllid-  d 

iiiin 
han 

lie 

!>ov  to  $:< 


DANGERS    OF   A   TRAPPER'S   LIFE.  105 

"  March  is  a  bold  fellow,"  observed  Bertram, 
who  walked  immediately  behind  Bounce,  hauling 
on  the  line  like  the  rest. 

"  Bold  he  is,  sir,"  replied  Bounce  ;  "  an'  if  ye'd 
seed  him,  as  I  did  not  many  weeks  agone,  a-ridin' 
on  the  back  of  a  buffalo  bull,  ye'd  mayhap  say 
he  was  more  nor  that." 

"  Hah!  he  is  mad! "  cried  Gibault,  who,  although 
the  last  in  the  line  of  tracksmen,  was  sharp-eared, 
and  overheard  the  conversation. 

«  Don't'  talk,  Gibault,"  interposed  Big  Waller, 
"  you  need  all  the  wind  in  your  little  carcase,  I 
guess,  to  enable  you  to  steam  ahead." 

"  Oui,  mon  dear  ami,  you  is  right —  I  do  ver' 
much  require  all  mine  steam  —  mine  spirits  —  for 
to  push  such  a  heavy,  useless  hulk  as  you  before 
me.'* 

"  Here's  a  steep  bit,  lads ;  mind  your  eye, 
Hawk  swing,"  said  Bounce,  as  the  Indian  who 
led  the  party  began  to  ascend  a  steep  part  of  the 
bank,  where  the  footing  was  not  secure,  owing 
to  the  loose,  gravelly  nature  of  the  soil. 

As  they  advanced,  the  path  along  the  bank 
became  narrower,  and  the  clifT  itself  so  precipi- 
tous that  it  seemed  as  if  a  jerk  on  the  line  would 
drag  the  men  off  and  send  them  rolling  down  into 
the  flood  below,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  canoe 
was  buffeting  its  way  through  the  hissing  foam. 

Bertram,  who  was  unused  to  such  a  position 
of  comparative  danger,  and  whose  head  was  not 


106 

. 

bank  at  hi 
•    the   n:i 

•_'«•<  1  to   j 
^  a  Icdg 
th'-:  '  :m  almost  inv- 

|f  hr 

;ld  do  .-• 

• 

•  come,  a 

•  pass  ai 

I    lli>    ll«  ihr 

tlion-  !i  .      I. 

h  an  air« 
was  going  (  i 

him    in 

MII  —  I   will 


THE  CANOE  IN  THE  RAPID.        107 

"  Hallo !  up  there,"  shouted  Redhand,  who 
was  at  that  moment,  along  with  March,  exerting 
his  utmost  strength  in  order  to  keep  the  canoe 
off  a  rock  over  which  the  water  was  bursting  in 
volumes  of  thick  foam ;  "  haul  away !  haul  away! 
we're  just  about  up." 

The  shout  attracted  Bertram's  attention :  he 
turned  his  eyes  involuntarily  towards  the  river. 
Instantly  his  brain  swam  round ;  he  staggered, 
and  would  have  fallen  over  the  bank,  had  not  Big 
Waller,  who  was  close  behind,  observed  his  situa- 
tion and  caught  him  by  the  collar.  In  doing  so 
he  was  compelled  to  let  go  his  hold  of  the  line. 
The  additional  strain  thus  suddenly  cast  upon 
Gibault  wrenched  the  line  from  his  grasp  with  a 
degree  of  violence  that  wellnigh  hurled  him  into 
the  river.  Bounce  and  Hawkswing  held  on  for 
one  moment,  but  the  canoe,  having  been  eased 
off  a  little,  caught  a  sweep  of  the  rapid,  and  went 
out  with  a  dart  that  the  united  strength  of  the 
whole  party  could  not  have  checked.  The  two 
men  had  to  let  go  to  save  themselves,  and  in  a 
shorter  time  than  it  takes  to  relate,  the  canoe 
went  down  the  river  towards  the  fall  dancing  like 
a  cork  on  the  heaving  spray,  while  the  old  man 
and  the  youth  stood  up  in  the  bow  and  stern 
wielding  their  paddles,  now  on  one  side,  now  on 
the  other,  with  ceaseless  rapidity  in  their  efforts 
to  avoid  being  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  rocks. 

The  sight  of  this  catastrophe,  superadded  to  his 


ins          THE  u 


'•liiiLfs.    ' 
•uriird  instantly,  ami  spr.uiir  i 

bfl  could   10   1; 

of  Big  \VailtT  anil  tli 

. 
md    thr    \\;i 

ps  as  fa> 
run. 

li  not  g; 

pass   over   \vhi« 
thr  wliirlinir  nl 

••,tln-^r. 

a  drit'tii;  th  • 

as   only 
thr   old 
\\  hen  tii 


DANGEROUS   POSITION   OF   MARCH   MARSTON.      109 

hand  was  hurled  violently  into  the  eddy,  where 
the  canoe  had  lain  before  the  ascent  was  com- 
menced, and  was  dragged  safe  to  land  by  his 
comrades.  March  Marston,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  swept  out  near  to  the  main  current,  and 
would,  in  two  seconds  more,  have  been  carried 
over  the  fall,  had  he  not,  with  wonderful  presence 
of  mind  and  an  almost  superhuman  exertion  of 
muscle,  dashed  into  an  eddy  which  was  formed 
by  a  rock  about  fifty  yards  from  the  top  of  the 
fall.  The  rock  was  completely  covered  with  the 
bursting  spray,  so  that  it  formed  no  resting-place, 
and  it,  with  the  partial  eddy  that  tailed  away  from 
it,  was  about  twenty  yards  from  the  shore,  where 
the  trappers  stood  gazing  in  horror  at  their  com- 
panion as  he  struggled  bravely  to  maintain  his 
position  by  swimming ;  but  to  cross  those  twenty 
yards  of  gushing  water,  so  as  to  afford  him  aid, 
seemed  beyond  the  power  of  man. 

Men  bred  in  the  wilderness  are  not  usually  slow 
to  act  in  cases  of  danger  where  action  is  possible. 
Each  man  was  revolving  in  fervid  haste  every 
plan  that  seemed  likely  to  afford  succor.  Red- 
hand's  quick  eye  observed  that  the  rocks  at  the 
edge  of  the  fall,  on  the  side  of  the  river  on  which 
they  stood,  projected  out  so  far  that  a  straight 
line  drawn  from  the  eddy  to  the  fall  would  pass 
within  a  yard  of  them,  and  that,  consequently,  if 
March  would  pull  straight  across  the  stream  and 
make  vigorously  for  the  bank,  he  might  hit  the 
10 


. 

.Irr    and    ' 

.    aJ     M  irrh,   \\  1;< 

ruitl»»  • 

trrowii 

hr    had    1<>M    all 
.id. 

bream  — 

In  :m  in 

bind 

e    his  COIUJKI 

did 


NARROW    ESCAPE    FROM    SUDDEN   DEATH.      Ill 

obeyed ;  yet  so  exhausted  was  he,  that,  in  the 
effort,  he  lost  strength  and  sank.  Bounce  was  pre- 
pared for  this.  He  seized  him  by  the  hair  and 
struck  out  with  the  energy  of  despair.  A  moment 
more  and  he  was  within  a  foot  of  the  brink  of  the 
fall? — but  also,  within  a  foot  of  the  point  of  rock 
on  which  Big  Waller  was  lying  at  full  length, 
part  of  his  body  overhanging  the  cataract,  his 
arms  extended,  and  Gibault  and  Hawkswing  hold- 
ing him  firmly  by  the  legs.  Bounce  caught  his 
comrade's  hand,  and  swung  close  in  to  the  bank, 
while  with  the  other  hand  he  continued  to  grasp 
March  by  the  hair  of  the  head.  The  force  of  the 
current  was  so  great,  however,  that  not  one  of  the 
party  dared  move,  and  it  seemed  for  a  moment  as 
if  all  of  them  would  be  lost,  when  Bertram  rushed 
forward,  and,  seizing  Bounce  by  the  arm  dragged 
him  still  nearer  the  bank,  and  relieved  the  strain 
upon  the  others.  Just  then,  Redhand  came  to 
the  rescue,  and  in  another  moment  the  two  men 
were  safe  upon  the  land. 

Poor  Bertram  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  while  he 
thanked  God  for  the  deliverance  of  his  compan- 
ions, sobbed  like  a  little  child. 

For  some  time  the  trappers  spoke  little.  Ac- 
customed though  they  were  to  danger,  they  were 
solemn 'zed  by  the  recent  narrow  escape  from 
sudden  death.  Perhaps,  too,  their  minds  were 
more  deeply  affected  than  usual  with  a  sense  of 
their  dependence  upon  the  living  God,  by  the 


1  L2 

-I  tin*  li 
. 
of  alarm.-   a. 

. 

.  in   truth, 

. 
r  (juick   . 

to  subsist  and  how  prorrrd  on  thrir 
said    R< 

c  iV>r  his  late  ^all.nr 


1   till   \\  . 

. 
March,  v 

. 
i'T  in  ill- 


AN   IRRELEVANT   QUESTION.  113 

their  necks,  and  a  few  slugs  and  bullets  in  their 
pouches.  The  only  fire-arms  left  were  Bertram's 
cavalry  pistols. 

As  for  the  canoe,  it  was  smashed  so  thor- 
oughly, that  only  a  very  few  shreds  of  bark  were 
cast  up  on  the  shore ;  but  entangled  with  these 
shreds  they  were  happy  to  find  several  of  their 
steel  traps  —  a  most  fortunate  circumstance,  as  it 
held  out  hopes  that  they  might  still  be  enabled  to 
prosecute  to  some  extent  the  main  object  of  their 
expedition. 

As  each  man  had  been  in  the  habit  of  carry- 
ing his  axe  and  knife  in  his  belt,  those  indispen- 
sable implements  of  the  backwoodsman  were 
saved;  but  the  loss  of  guns  and  ammunition 
was  a  very  severe  misfortune,  and  one  which,  for 
at  least  half  an  hour  after  every  attempt  to 
recover  them  had  failed,  cast  a  damp  over  the 
spirits  of  the  whole  party.  But  these  men  had 
neither  time  nor  inclination  to  hang  down  their 
heads  and  sigh.  Big  Waller,  being  a  careless 
individual  by  nature,  was  the  first  to  regain 
somewhat  of  his  wonted  tone  and  manner. 
Sitting  on  a  grassy  knoll,  on  which  all  the  party 
had  been  resting  for  some  time  after  their  fruit- 
less exertions,  in  moody  silence,  Waller  looked 
up  suddenly  and  said  —  "  Who's  afraid  ?  " 

As  no  one  happened  at  that  moment  to  be 
exhibiting  symptoms  of  terror,  and  there  was 
no  apparent  cause  for  fear,  the  question  seemed 
10* 


1 1  I 

\  .  . 

r   how 
. 

- 

knl  at 

.    and    i  -iu-li    a 

.-less    Miriam-holy     that 
i     unroll' 

,     liouncr,   \vitliout     1.  why, 

••  \\  at    it," 

r-'li'l 

i  to  be  s<  • 


'ill'    k«'r- 

. 

n     to 
ran't    pi. 
i»n   it   in   '  :ld." 

i  — 

u  1 1-  i.    l:nl>.      That     outra- 

illain   the   J) 


PREPARATION  TO  ATTACK  THE  ROBBERS.   115 

part,  in  a  pretty  little  spot  just  three  days'  march 
from  this  place.  He  stole,  as  ye  all  know,  the 
horses  belongin'  to  Mr.  Bertram's  party.  Well, 
I  propose  that  we  shud  go  an'  call  on  him,  an' 
make  him  stand  an'  redeliver.  What  say  yon  ?  " 
"  Agreed,"  cried  Waller,  tossing  his  cap  into  the 
air.  "  Hurrah !  "  shouted  March  Marston.  In 
one  way  or  another,  each  gave  his  consent  to  the 
plan  of  making  a  descent  upon  the  robbers  and 
causing  them  to  make  restitution. 

The  plans  of  backwoodsmen,  once  formed, 
are  always  quickly  put  in  execution.  They  had 
no  arrangements  to  make,  no  portmanteaus  to 
pack,  no  difficulties  in  the  way  to  overcome. 
Each  man  strapped  a  portion  of  the  remaining 
property  on  his  broad  shoulders,  and,  pushing 
into  the  forest  with  vigorous  strides,  they  were 
soon  far  from  the  spot  where  their  late  disaster 
had  occurred,  and  gradually  drew  near  to  the 
wild  glens  and  gorges  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 


1  16  WILD    v  \rB8T. 


C  ii  \  PT  i:  i;    v  1 1. 

•lain  detcritod.  —  Bounce  become*  ' 
ring  enlarged  on.  —  A  ^ 


THK  WOLF  AND  THE  BUFFALOES. 


. 

.  .    .   • 


A  BEAUTIFUL  AFTERNOON.         117 

toes  against  stumps,  is  good  for  —  though  some- 
what trying  to  —  the  temper. 

Further  still — we  affirm  tnat  wandering  through 
the  wild  woods  is  a  funny  thing.  Any  one  who 
had  observed  our  friends  March  Marston,  and 
Redhand,  and  Bounce,  and  Big  Waller,  and 
Black  Gibault,  the  trappers,  and  Bertram  the 
artist,  and  Hawkswing  the  Indian,  one  beautiful 
afternoon,  not  long  after  the  day  on  which  they 
lost  their  canoe,  would  have  admitted,  without 
hesitation,  that  wandering  through  the  wild 
woods  was,  among  other  things,  a  funny  thing. 

On  the  beautiful  afternoon  referred  to,  the  first 
six  individuals  above  named  were  huddled  together 
in  a  promiscuous  heap,  behind  a  small  bush,  in 
such  a  confused  way  that  an  ignorant  spectator 
might  have  supposed  that  Bounce's  head  be- 
longed to  Big  Waller's  body,  and  the  artist's 
shoulders  to  Redhand' s  head,  and  their  respective 
legs  and  arms  to  no  one  individually,  but  to  all 
collectively  in  a  miscellaneous  sort  of  way.  The 
fact  was  that  the  bush  behind  which  they  were 
huddled  was  almost  too  small  to  conceal  them 
all,  and,  being  a  solitary  bush  in  the  midst  of  a 
little  plain  of  about  a  half  a  mile  in  extent,  they 
had  to  make  the  most  of  it  and  the  least  of 
themselves.  It  would  have  been  a  refreshing 
sight  for  a  moralist  to  have  witnessed  this  in- 
stance of  man  —  whose  natural  tendency  is  to 
try  to  look  big  —  thus  voluntarily  endeavoring  to 
look  as  small  as  possible ! 


TIIK    W/LU    MAN   OP  THE    WEST. 

inity  was  staring  tin 
ih«-  bush,  v.  iih,  EM  thr  ia;  til  its  «•;. 

of — ort\vrl  ln:il  —  , 

—  :tn  r: 

—  our    1! 

. 

:i8  a  Btrn 

il.       Thr 

v'll   oil   ll 

. 
: 

1 

- 

tlir    } 

M  I     ho;  -  1     I!. .line-.    u  tl  Injun 


WOLVES   ENEMIES    TO   BUFFALOES.  119 

"  Never  fear,"  said  March,  with  a  quiet  grin. 
"  If  he  aims  within  a  yard  o'  the  brute  he's  sure 
to  hit,  for  I  loaded  the  old  blunderbuss  myself, 
an'  it's  crammed  nigh  to  the  muzzle  with  all  sorts 
o'  things,  includin'  stones." 

At  this  Big  Waller  stared,  and  said,  emphati- 
cally, "  It'll  bust !  "  Bertram  felt  and  looked  un- 
easy, but  Bounce  shook  his  head. 

"  Them  old  things,"  said  he,  "  never  bust.  I've 
been  forty  years,  off  an'  on,  in  these  parts,  an' 
I've  always  obsarved  that  old  irons  o'  that  sort 
dortt  bust ;  cause  why  ?  they'd  ha'  busted  w'en 
they  wos  new,  if  they'd  bin  goin'  to  bust  at  all. 
The  fact  is  they  can't  bust.  They're  too  useless 
even  for  that." 

"  How  comes  it,"  inquired  Bertram,  "  that  the 
buffaloes  are  not  afraid  of  a  wolf?  I  have  been 
led  to  understand  that  wolves  are  the  inveterate 
enemies  of  buffaloes,  and  that  they  often  attack 
them." 

To  this  question  March,  whose  head  was  in 
close  proximity  to  that  of  the  artist,  replied  — 

"  Ay,  the  sneakin'  brutes  will  attack  a  single 
wounded  or  worn-out  old  buffalo,  when  it  falls 
behind  the  herd,  and  when  there  are  lots  o'  their 
low-minded  comrades  along  with  'em ;  but  the 
buffaloes  don't  care  a  straw  for  a  single  wolf,  as 
ye  may  see  now  if  ye  pay  attention  to  what 
Hawkswing's  doin'." 

Bertram  became  silent  01    observing  that  the 


iihin   al  •»>!- 

A  iihout 

sed 

run.      (' 
b,  \\hilt-  thr  lu-nl 

i   of  gnr  up:  »>n  : 

me  of  th 


KESULT   OF   A   LONtf   FAST.  121 

"wot"  any  thing  "  wos"  since  the  world  began 
up  to  that  time,  "  I'll  tell  ye  wot  it  is,  I  won't 
stand  this  sort  o'  thing  no  longer." 

"  It  is  most  unfortunate,"  sighed  poor  Bertram, 
who  thoroughly  identified  himself  with  his  pistol, 
and  felt  much  ashamed  of  it  as  if  the  fault  had 
been  his  own. 

"  Wall,  lads,"  observed  Big  Waller,  drawing 
forth  his  pipe  as  the  only  source  of  comfort  in 
these  trying  circumstances,  and  filling  it  with 
scrupulous  care,  "  it  ain't  of  no  use  gettin'  grow- 
owly  about  it,  I  guess.  There  air  more  buffaloes 
then  them  wot's  gone ;  mayhap  we'll  spliflicate 
one  before  we  gits  more  waspisher." 

It  may,  perhaps,  be  necessary  to  explain  that 
Waller's  last  word  referred  to  the  unusually 
small  waists  of  the  party,  the  result  of  a  pretty 
long  fast. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,"  said  March,  advancing 
toward  Bounce  with  a  swagger  and  drawing  his 
hunting-knife,  "  I  quite  agree  with  Waller's  senti- 
ments. I  don't  mean  to  allow  myself  to  get  any 
more  waspisher,  so  I  vote  that  we  cut  Bounce 
up  and  have  a  feed.  What  say  you,  comrades  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  replied  Bounce,  laying  bare  his 
broad  chest  as  if  to  receive  the  knife,  "  only, 
p'raps,  ye'll  allow  me  to  eat  the  first  slice  off 
myself  afore  ye  begin,  cause  I  couldn't  well  have 
my  share  afterwards,  d'ye  see?  But,  now  I  think 
on't,  I'd  be  rather  a  tough  morsel.  Young  meat's 
11 


gin'raOy  thought  tin-  midm-st.     \Vot  say  ye  to 

«  I:  \oii'll  onh  i   Rrdhand.  "till 

Bertram  Lrit-  a  n»-\v  iiinT  into  his  pistol,  v 

o*  ruttin1  him  up.     It'll 
be  quirkrr,  \o\]  know.w 

-  1 1  i!i  !  !j)ini?    :i 

•ipulse  of  a 

i  .-how  to  yon  vat  vr  vill  do. 

vill   r-ich   c.  vill 

begin  \ 

an  1    I    vill   c«.t    hot!'  inin-  .nger.      Each  \ill 

•)H'  fiiiLr«T  ol'df  odrr,  an'  BO  ve  shall  1, 

As  I  had  by  • 

rch  \\it: 
Ir    1 

OH  \\    W'-npons    ;i> 

[K)8- 

pping  a 
skill  of  \\hi< 


A   MOST   LOVELY   SCENE.  123 

seen,  an  unsuccessful  effort  to  shoot  a  buffalo. 
Soon  after  this  failure  the  party  came  to  a  ridge 
of  gravelly  soil  tEat  stretched  across  the  plain  like 
a  wave. 

%The  plain,  or  smah1  prairie,  to  which  we  refer 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  most  lovely  scene.  The 
earth  was  carpeted  with  rich  green  grass,  in 
which  the  wild  flowers  nestled  like  gems.  The 
ground  was  undulating,  yet  so  varied  in  its  form- 
ations that  the  waves  and  mounds  did  not  pre- 
vent the  eyes  of  the  travellers  ranging  over  a  vast 
tract  of  country,  even  when  they  were  down 
among  the  hollows ;  and,  when  they  had  ascended 
the  backs  of  the  ridges,  they  could  cast  a  wide 
glance  over  a  scene  of  mingled  plain  and  wood, 
lakje  and  river,  such  as  is  never  seen  except  in 
earth's  remotest  wilds,  where  man  has  not  at- 
tempted to  adorn  the  face  of  Nature  with  the 
exuberances  of  his  own  wonderful  invention. 

Far  away  on  the  horizon  the  jagged  forms  and 
snowy  peaks  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  rose  clear 
and  sharp  against  the  sky.  For  some  days  past 
the  trappers  had  sighted  this  stupendous  "  back- 
bone "  of  the  far  west,  yet  so  slowly  did  they 
draw  near  that  March  Marston  and  Bertram,  in 
their  impatience,  almost  believed  they  were  a 
range  of  phantom  hills,  which  ever  receded  from 
them  as  they  advanced. 

On  reaching  the  summit  of  the  gravelly  ridge, 
Redhand  looked  along  it  with  an  earnest,  search- 
ing gaze. 


I  MAN  OF  THB  WEST. 

••  V 

. 

a    stnnr    and     drawing     forth     his     >krt. 

foreground." 

. 

was  il    to  a  sketch  —  rat 

. 

dge  o'  you 

. 

ly  a  small  «». 

/<•<!    thr   • 
|)ll! 

ni.iLrniti- 
Uij   inlli  'i CCO 

> 
la  in  th«- 

. 
we  make  a  <  -regrouiK. 


CONVERSATION  ABOUT  A  FOREGROUND.   125 

Bounce  looked  at  his  companion  in  silence  for 
a  few  seconds ;  then  he  removed  his  pipe,  pursed 
his  lips,  frowned  heavily,  looked  at  the  ground, 
and  repeated  slowly,  "  How  does  we  make  a 
capital  foreground  ?  " 

Waller  nodded. 

"  Ay,  that's  it."  Bounce  resumed  his  pipe  for 
a  few  seconds,  and  then  said  with  an  air  of  the 
utmost  profundity,  — 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  " 

«  No,  I  don't." 

«  Wot  ?     Nothin'  about  it  wotiver  ?  " 

"  Nothin'  wotsomediver." 

"  Hm,  that's  okard,"  said  Bounce,  once  more 
applying  to  his  pipe  ;  "  'cause,  d'ye  see,  it's  most 
'orrible  difficult  to  explain  a  thing  to  a  feller  as 
don't  know  nothin'  wotiver  about  it.  If  ye  only 
had  the  smallest  guess  o' " 

"  Wall,  come,  I  does  know  somethin'  about  it," 
interrupted  Waller. 

"  Wot's  that  ?  "  inquired  Bounce,  brightening 
up. 

"  I  calc'late  that  I  knows  for  certain  it  ain't 
got  no  place  wotever  in  my  onderstandin'." 

"  Hah  !  "  exclaimed  Bounce.  "  Come,  then, 
I'll  do  my  best  for  to  explain  it  t'ye.  Here's  wot 
it  is.  D'ye  see  Mr.  Bertram,  there  ?  " 

«  Yes  I  does." 

"  An'  d'ye  see  yerself  ?  " 


THE  WILD  MAS   OF  THE   V 

:i  d'ye  see  the  ground  over  th- 
ing with    hi 

Waller  i 

iien,"  said  J!  ii  tho-e  de<  , 

with  which   men   usually  atle'iip- 
>e   the  i  of  some  desperately    Ki: 

s  a 
of,  an'  trie.* 

ie  comes  before  the  ground, 
><>  we're,  as  ye  may  say,  before-grov 

studies   huiii 
see,  coi 
is  always   gitiin    pmi'-ee-.-a: 

- 

\\ith   th- 

els  himself  as  \\ 
as  he  was  B  ma- 

I 

. 

nld 
it  woul.i 

ve  see,  and 


GIBAULT'S  DISCOVERY  OF  BUFFALOES.       127 

taste  in  this  wurld  —  I've  obsarved  that  iver  since 
I  was  three  fut  two." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  graphic  expo- 
sition of  an  abstruse  subject,  Bounce  relapsed 
into  silence,  and  the  whole  party  continued  for 
some  minutes  in  a  profound  reverie.  From  this 
felicitous  condition  they  were  awakened  by  the 
sudden  appearance  of  Black  Gibault,  who  darted 
out  of  the  poplar  bluff  and  made  toward  them 
at  the  top  of  his  speed.  He  uttered  no  cry,  but, 
on  coming  near  enough  to  permit  of  his  features 
being  clearly  seen,  it  was  observed  that  his  eyes 
were  eagerly  wide  open,  and  that  his  mouth  was 
engaged  in  the  formation  of  words.  A  second 
or  two  more,  and  he  was  near  enough  to  be 
heard  uttering  the  word  "  buffaloes  "  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"  Ho  !  boy,  wot  is't  ?  "  cried  Bounce,  in  an 
equally  hoarse  whisper. 

"  Ba  —  buffaloes,  hah !  buffaloes,"  cried  Gi- 
bault, panting  violently  as  he  came  up  ;  "  Where 
be  de  leet  gun  ?  Ho !  Monsieur  Bertram,  out 
vid  it." 

"  Where  saw  ye  them  ?  "  asked  Redhand,  seiz- 
ing the  two  pistols,  and  examining  the  priming. 

"  Jist  oder  side  of  de  bluff.  Ver'  close  to  de 
bushes.  Queek !  queek !  vite !  mon  gargon,  you 
is  so  drefful  slow." 

The  latter  part  of  this  sentence  was  addressed 
to  Hawkswing,  who  was  quietly  putting  on  his 


TUB   WILD    MAN    OF   THE    WEST. 

loughtoc 

of  (  in  was  quirk  enough   for   all 

useful  purposes.     In  three  iiiinu: 
Bfl  behind  wl. 
\vn  to    be    feeding,    and    in   another 

vas  out  upon   the  pi  iin  ere. 
ward    h  .s,    while  the    rest  of    the   j. 

e    again    huddled    together    behind   a   bi 

with    deep  and    breathless 

nd  slow!  ward 

buffaloes,  pansing  and  -nulling  abi 
time  to  time  as  if  he  were  a   \ 
search  of  eat     At  last  he  hid  ap- 

h  *o  the  herd  to  attniet  their 
it  scarcely  near  enough  to  ma 
of  bringing   one    down.      T 

oked  up  iiKjuiringly  for  a  i. 
.  a  solitary  enen, 

of    him,   and    v 

paused  within  a  fe\v  yards  <. 

their 

a  low  groan  of 
re  and  a  win 

. 

agon  in. 


SUGGESTIVE    OF   A   BUTCHER'S    SHOP.          129 

The  knife  of  the  Indian  hastened  the  end,  and 
with  a  rush  and  a  yell  of  delight  the  whole  party 
fell  upon  the  luckless  animal. 

It  was  a  wonderful  sight  to  see,  the  way  in 
which  these  experienced  men  flayed  and  cut  up 
that  buffalo  !  Hawks  wing,  without  taking  time 
to  remove  his  wolf-skin  covering,  commenced 
upon  the  head  and  speedily  cut  out  the  tongue  — 
a  more  difficult  operation  than  inexperienced 
persons  would  suppose.  Redhand  and  Bounce 
began  at  the  shoulders,  and  Big  Waller  and 
Gibault  fell  to  work  upon  the  flanks.  March 
Marston  seized  his  axe,  and  hastening  into  the 
bluff  felled  a  dead  pine  and  kindled  a  fire.  As 
for  Bertram,  he  sat  down  to  sketch  the  whole 
with  a  degree  of  prompt  facility  and  gusto,  that 
showed  the  habit  had  become  second  nature  to 
him. 

The  way  in  which  these  men  wielded  their 
bloody  knives,  flayed  and  sliced,  dismembered 
and  divided  that  buffalo,  is  past  belief — almost 
beyond  description.  Each  man  threw  off  his 
capote  and  tucked  up  his  shirt-sleeves  to  the 
elbows,  and  very  soon  each  had  on  a  pair  of 
bright  red  gauntlets.  And  the  bloody  appear- 
ance of  Hawkswing's  mouth  proved  that  he  had 
been  anticipating  the  feast  with  a  few  tidbits 
raw.  The  others  were  more  patient. 

In  very  nearly  as  short  a  time  as  it  takes  to 
tell,  the  buffalo  was  converted  into  a  mass  ol 


. 

ally  §Ug| 

to  a 
to    wa.-  hands    : 

i us  engaged;   "I  mean-  . e  a 

i  go  to  .- 

.   hours  mi  61 
.-irked  Big  Wall. 
\vhirh  old  Redband  n  pi 

.'    who    be  go  to   vaTrh,   tin  '"    in- 

tO  llir  C8 
.'•11    ;i>k 

urn 
11    lirr  |   o'   dry  wood,  le^t 

\V:illt-r; 
ruesa  we'll  have  wak-hiu'  ciit»uirli  w'm  we  gits 

. 
••  \V.-M  '  irood  1)1 

"ii  tin-  al 


THE   PARTY   PARTAKE    OF   A   GOOD    SUPPER.      131 

to  give  to  his  naturally  thin  and  lank  figure  a 
thread-papery  appearance  that  might  have  sug- 
gested the  idea  that  he  was  evaporating.  He 
smiled  good-humoredly  when  March  Marston, 
who  had  now  become  rather  familiar  with  him, 
shut  up  his  sketch-book  and  set  him  forcibly 
down  before  the  fire,  all  round  which  steaks  and 
hunks  of  meat  were  roasting  and  grilling,  and 
sending  forth  an  odor  that  would  have  rendered 
less  hungry  men  impatient  of  delay.  But  they 
had  not  to  wait  long.  Each  man  sat  before  his 
respective  steak  or  hunk,  gazing  eagerly,  as,  skew- 
ered on  the  end  of  a  splinter  of  wood,  his  supper 
roasted  hissingly.  When  the  side  next  the  fire 
was  partially  cooked,  he  turned  it  round  and 
fell  to  work  upon  that  while  the  other  side  was 
roasting  —  thus  the  cooking  and  the  eating  went 
on  together. 

After  a  considerable  time  symptoms  of  satiety 
began  to  appear,  in  the  shape  of  an  occasional 
remark.  Soon  Bounce  uttered  a  deep  sigh,  and 
announced  his  belief  that,  having  taken  the  edge 
off  his  appetite,  it  was  time  to  begin  with  the 
marrow-bones.  Thereupon,  with  the  marrow- 
bones he  began,  and  his  example  was  quickly 
followed  by  his  companions.  There  was  a  busi* 
ness-like  steadiness  of  purpose  in  the  way  in 
which  that  meal  was  eaten,  and  in  the  whole 
of  the  procedure  connected  with  it,  that  would 
have  been  highly  diverting  to  a  disinterested 
spectator. 


When  the  feast  was  concluded,  the  pipes  i 

;isa  mat  im 

the.--  <  d,  and  in  full   blast,  ;>ere 

"  Dat  be   a   mo  *    re- 

Noir.      (iibault  spo 

It  waa  q  \vas 

he  did  not  possess  in  a  high  degree 
— 

•if  11  need  a*  i  y '  good  si 

ill,  jist,"  said  Waller;  "an'  so  will  this 

il '' 

Big  \vas  going  to  h  < 

'i  a   yav. 

• 
jaws  could  st  <>ng. 

Dch 

,    rre   many  mini; 
passed,  half  their  in 

ieir  biindir- 

- 

'  a  large  cotton-tree,  dropped   into  at 
[»ij>e  lian^in^.uraccfiilly  :V 


BERTRAM  AND  THE  YANKEE'S  PORTRAIT.   133 

This  seemed  so  picturesque  to  Theodore  Ber- 
tram, who  sat  immediately  opposite  to  the  Yan- 
kee, on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  that  he  pulled 
out  his  sketch-book  and  began  enthusiastically 
to  sketch  by  the  flickering  light.  While  he  was 
thus  occupied,  the  others  lay  down,  one  by  one, 
and  he  was  left,  at  last,  the  only  waking  member 
of  the  camp. 

But  Theodore  Bertram  was  human,  and  this  is 
tantamount  to  saying  that  he  was  not  capable  of 
ignoring  the  somnolent  influences  of  human  na- 
ture. To  his  own  extreme  surprise  his  head  fell 
forward  with  an  abrupt  nod  while  he  was  engaged 
in  the  act  of  depicting  Big  Waller's  nose,  and  he 
found,  on  resuming  work  with  an  imbecile  smile 
at  what  he  deemed  his  weakness,  that  that  mem- 
ber of  the  Yankee's  face  was  at  least  two  feet 
long,  and  was  formed  after  the  pattern  of  a  some- 
what irregular  Bologna  sausage.  India-rubber 
quickly  put  this  to  rights,  however,  and  he  set  to 
again  with  renewed  zeal.  Throwing  back  his 
head,  and  looking  up  as  if  for  inspiration,  his 
wide-awake  fell  off,  and  it  required  a  sudden  and 
powerful  effort  to  prevent  his  head  and  shoulders 
falling  in  the  same  direction. 

Having  replaced  his  hat  and  shaken  himself  a 
little,  the  persevering  man  once  more  applied  him- 
self to  his  task  of  finishing  the  Yankee's  portrait, 
which,  to  say  truth,  now  presented   a  variety  of 
12 


e  outlhi' 

For   lOme    timr    th«-   }M 
upon    ihr   }> 
/as  beginnin 

•CM*?,  \\!P  .  he  observed  that 

air  ain.-t  which  thr  ^ 
of  tailing  0 

hr  received  a  shock  upon  the  1» 
. 
•n  ]><>.. r  <  -  breast,  and  that  Wallrr 

re  m  statuquo.  IV 

was  too  det'i  '   upon  sleeping  to  n 

trifles. 

kly  as  he  rc\- 

-e  beneath   his  nose  !      i 

in   l.r  «  lEgic  hrn-,  :n 

.inir  in  thr  li<:ht  of  » 

beer  in 
tion,  hr  discovered  Wallrr' 

lliT    hryond     thr  ,  .  f   his  rolintr  M;IM< 

6  his  head,  on  thr  stem  of 
again>t  which  he  leaned. 

and  led  ] 

must   be  dreaming,   nndrr  \vhirli   impression 
I   and  \vrnt  to  si- 


LUDIC'KOLS    POSITION    OF    LERTRAM.  135 

Of  course,  Bertram  recollected  nothing  after 
that;  but  when  Gibault  awoke  next  morning, 
he  found  him  lying  on  his  back,  with  his  feet 
in  the  ashes  of  the  extinct  fire,  his  tall  brig- 
andish  wide-awake  perfectly  flat  beneath  his 
shoulders,  and  his  sketch-book  lying  open  across 
his  face. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

ichc  discovered.  —  Bertram  booouMM  vtJorou.«. —  Failur- 
lows,  and  *  brief  Skirmish,  Flight,  and  Separation  are  the  Re- 

h<    bright  sky,  gilding  the  hill-tops,  flocx 
ying  vegetable*  1 

ini:  ili«-  \\  h 

lo\\i  .-Jiinir,    uur    \\t-;i; 

.  .n-^.in  to  tin. 

. 

' 

lining   t'r> 
words  1*^8. 

:iiid      \ 

good  and 

it    \\ith    mil 


EARNEST   CONVERSATION   INTERRUPTED.        137 

yes,  happy  creatures,  for,  despite  the  existence 
of  death,  and  sin,  and  sorrow  everywhere,  and 
the  croaking  of  misanthropes,  there  is  much, 
very  much,  of  pure,  overflowing  happiness  here 
below. 

"  Come,  March  —  Mr.  Bertram,  time  presses," 
said  Redhand,  interrupting  the  two  friends  in  the 
midst  of  an  earnest  conversation  ;  "  we've  got  a 
long  day  before  us,  and,  mayhap,  a  fight  with 
redskins  at  the  end  o't,  so  it  behoves  us  to  make 
a  good  breakfast  and  set  off  as  soon  as  we  can. 
We're  late  enough  already." 

"  Ah,  Redhand !  "  exclaimed  March,  "  you're  a 
terrible  fellow  for  duty  an'  business,  an'  all  that 
sort  o'  thing.  It's  always  <  time  to  be  off,'  or 
'time  to  think  o'  this  or  that,'  or  'we  mustn't 
put  off,'  with  you.  Why  won't  ye  let  us  take 
a  breathin'  spell  once  in  a  way  to  enjoy  ourselves, 
eh?" 

The  old  man  pointed  to  the  sun  — "  You've 
enjoyed  yourself  late  enough  to-day,  han't 
ye?" 

"  Come,  March,  you're  in  a  fault-finding  hu- 
mor this  morning,"  said  Bertram,  as  they  walked 
toward  the  camp.  "  Let's  enjoy  ourselves  in 
spite  of  circumstances.  Do  you  know,  I  hold  it 
to  be  exceedingly  wise  as  well  as  philosophical, 
to  make  the  best  of  things  at  all  times." 

"  Do  you  ? "  exclaimed  March,  in  a  tone  of 
affected  surprise ;  "  now  that's  odd.  You  must 

12* 


bearralrl. 

in- 
ink    tha1  •'    thr    tnij>jH'i>    1 

about s  are  as  wise   as   yoursi -If  on 

•  juM  in  thr  Bam ' 

ilrr,  now,  as  '11    '•  A  lirn  he  i 

:'t  hrlp  n.  hr  guesses  hr'll  jist  irrin  an'  \"-^ 

'  -  Mil  in 

y  years  i  '  who's  :i 

-  if  In-  hrant  (lr;id  —  that  ux 

iin  —  •> 
,  boy,  ni 

as  aisy  as  ye  can.'     So  you  see,  Mr.    I 
<*  got  a  few  sparks 

so  as  to 

DOh  .ii'lli't    U>r     to     1 

Man 

in    'cause  we're   gettiif    nigh    ti< 

••<!  no  r« 

,'lrr,  <rt  . 

\Vhrr,  iii  i 

his 

. 


REDHAND'S  DISCOVERY.  139 

During  the  course  of  that  day  the  trappers 
walked  about  thirty  miles.  Toward  the  after- 
noon they  came  to  a  large  river,  along  the  banks 
of  which  they  pursued  their  way,  led  by  Redhand, 
who  seemed  as  familiar  with  the  country  as  if  he 
had  dwelt  there  from  infancy.  The  old  trapper's 
kindly  visage  was  lighted  up  with  a  smile  of 
recognition,  ever  and  anon,  when  some  new  and 
striking  feature  of  the  landscape  opened  up  to 
view,  as  if  he  had  met  with  and  were  greeting 
some  personal  friend.  He  spoke  occasionally  in  a 
low  tone  to  March,  who  kept  usually  close  to  his 
side,  and  pointed  to  spots  which  were  associated 
in  his  memory  with  adventures  of  various  kinds. 
But  RedhancPs  observations  were  few.  He  pre- 
ferred to  listen  to  the  conversation  of  his  com- 
rades, as  they  plodded  steadily  along,  enlivening 
their  march  with  many  an  anecdote  and  legend. 

At  last  R^dhand  called  a  halt,  and  gazed  in- 
quiringly around  him,  as  if  in  search  of  some 
object. 

"  Wot's  up  ?  "  inquired  Bounce,  earnestly. 

"  It   was    hereabouts,   somewhere,"   muttered 

Redhand,  to  himself  rather  than  to  his  friend , 

then  added  quickly,  as  he  threw  down  his  pack, 

"  Ay,  there   it  is  —  never  touched.     Now  that's 

I  call  luck." 

"  Wufs  luck.?  "  inquired  Waller. 

"  Ah,  dat  is  de  keevestion,"  added  Gibault,  with 
a  look  of  surprise. 


110  I)    MAN    « 

.ruing 
ho  obsei 

wi\  :  :ioW| 

.vas   an   old   (hap   \\  ho   <  >\wd\ 

•  TS  up  in  them  parts, v 

aOl 

>'th>  M  I  guess  we'd  as  well  8<  '    So  saying 

})>•  -ratrd  },  die  and,  as  a  matted 

-e,  proc<  pr.     Tl 

fdl!<  lird- 

. 
\vh 

"  R 

us.    ^H 
nil   I 

parts  came  do\\n   tn    I'mr    1 
year 

•  Ihand   paused, 
•   thr  urdiind. 

i  

\ith- 

. 


CURIOSITY   AKOUSED.  141 

said  —  Redhand,  Pm  goin'  onder,  an'  Fve  got 
some  property  as  I  don't  want  lost.  Ye  know 
Beaver  Creek  ? '  '  \  es,'  says  I,  '  every  fut  of  it.' 
(  Well,  then,'  says  he,  '  there's  a  spot  there  with 
three  mounds  on  the  right  side  o'  the  Creek,  and 
a  tall  poplar  in  Xront  of  'em.'  '  I  know  it,'  says 
I.  *  Well,  w'en  I  last  come  from  that  part,'  says 
he,  '  I  made  a  cache  at  the  foot  o'  that  poplar, 
an'  put  one  or  two  things  in,  which  it  'ud  be  a 
pity  to  lose  —  so  I  give  'em  to  you,  Redhand.  I 
was  chased  by  Injuns  at  the  place,  so  I  couldn't 
stop  to  bring  'em  away,  d'ye  see  ?  '  {  An'  what 
were  the  things  ye  put  there  ?  '  said  I.  But  he 
gave  me  no  answer ;  his  mind  began  to  wander, 
and  he  never  spoke  sense  again.  Now,  lads,  this 
is  Beaver  Creek,  and  there  stands  the  poplar  in 
front  o'  the  three  mounds." 

Redhand  pointed  to  the  tree  as  he  spoke,  and 
the  others  started  up  with  alacrity,  for  the  little 
touch  of  romance  connected  with  the  incident, 
combined  with  their  comparatively  destitute  con- 
dition, and  their  ignorance  of  what  the  concealed 
treasure  might  be,  powerfully  stirred  their  cu- 
riosity. 

Arming  themselves  with  strong  staves,  they 
began  to  dig  away  the  earth  at  the  roots  of  the 
poplar. 

After  a  few  minutes'  hard  work,  Bounce  rose 
to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  and 
said,  — 


II'.1  THE   WILD   M  >1E  WEST. 

•  W  irll  us  0*  thi>  h« 

hand 

isn't  sure  the  cat  it   not 

•d  long  ago,  and    I  didn' 
<i>oi  lit  in' 

•  II  re's*oni>  j  Big  \V:d 

»•  stake  \vith  which  \ 
up  the  earth 

"II  . 

iring  away  the  e 

roken.     No  —  w! 

"So     it  !     (Jil-iu 

:        •• 
LT    and    • 
operation  \\  h 

T  the  shake  sho 
were  liijuid.     In  a  moment  t 

- 

1  —  • 

••  1 1 

iid  dniLTL 

:i  was  soon 

r  unrolled,  and 

tin1  die  trappers,  whose   looks  si: 


BERTRAM'S  RECOMMENDATION.  143 

pretty  clearly  that  this  latter  discovery  was  much 
more  agreeable  than  the  former. 

After  digging  deep  all  round  the  tree,  they 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  this  was  all  that  the 
cache  contained. 

"  Now,"  said  Bounce,  after  some  talk  in  refer- 
ence to  their  newly-found  treasure,  "  wot's  to  be 
done  with  dis  here  keg  o'  brandy  ?  As  for  the 
baccy,  we'll  carry  that  along  with  us,  of  course, 
an'  if  Master  Redhand's  a  liberal  feller,  we'll  help 
him  to  smoke  it.  But  the  brandy  keg's  heavy, 
an'  to  say  truth,  I'm  not  much  inclined  for  it. 
I  never  wos  fond  o'  fire-water." 

"  If  you'll  allow  me,  friends,  to  suggest,"  said 
Bertram,  whose  experience  among  trappers  in 
other  regions  had  convinced  him  that  spirits  was  a 
most  undesirable  commodity;  "  I  would  recom- 
mend that  you  should  throw  this  brandy  away. 
I  never  saw  good  come  of  it.  We  do  not  require 
it  for  health,  neither  do  we  for  sickness.  Let  us 
throw  it  away,  my  friends ;  it's  a  dangerous  and 
deceitful  foe."  * 

"  Mais,  monsieur,"  interposed  Gibault,  with  a 
rueful  countenance  ;  you  speak  the  trooth  ;  but 
though  hims  be  dangereaux  an'  ver'  bad  for  drink 
of  tin,  yet  ven  it  be  cold  vedder,  it  doo  varm  de 
cokils  of  de  hart !  " 

Big  Waller  laughed  vociferously  at  this.  "  I 
guess  Gibault's  right,"  said  he,  "it  'ud  be  a 
powerful  shame  to  fling  it  away." 


1  I  I  THE    WILD   MAN   OP  THE   WEST. 

U  ^ 

we  <  ;id4 

our  r  I  in-  \v-  jrhtl 

ir  \vr  can't  carry  it  with  us  on  a  wai 
-o  I  propose  that  \vr  >liouM  put  if 
<>un<i  it  an*  coi;:  lor  it  \vhei| 

is  linally  agreed  to  ;  th»- 

he  parM 

: 
ll  thriu. 

- 

.cat,  tiiiL  ith  ro8j| 

•  •re  came  upon  t! 

in   thei 

«1    lyinfl 
•!i  thr  bank  •  ii-  l{nl- 

han 

:it! 


uifi» 

le 
m 


: 


sflk 

a 


i 


CAUTION   REQUIRED.  145 

and  for  their  safety.  Surrounded  as  they  are  by 
perils  of  every  kind,  their  eyes  and  ears  are  con- 
stantly on  .the  alert,  as  they  pass  through  the 
pathless  wilderness  on  the  hunt  or  on  the  war- 
trail.  No  object  witnm  the  range  of  vision  is 
passed  with  indifference.  Every  thing  is  care- 
fully yet  quickly  noted  —  the  breaking  of  a  twig, 
the  crushing  of  a  blade  of  grass,  or  the  footprint 
of  man  or  beast.  Hence  the  backwoodsman 
acquires  the  habit  of  turning  all  things  in  his 
path  to  account,  or  notes  them  in  case  they 
should,  by  any  possibility,  be  required  by  him  at 
a  future  time: 

Redhand  had  no  definite  object  in  view  when, 
with  the  assistance  of  March  Marston,  he  lifted 
the  canoe  and  placed  it  in  the  stream  to  ascertain 
that  it  was  water-tight,  and  then  replaced  it  on 
the  bank  with  the  paddles  close  beside  it.  But 
he  had  a  general  idea,  founded  on  experience, 
that  a  good  canoe  was  a  useful  thing  in  many 
supposable  circumstances,  and  that  it  was  as 
well  to  know  where  such  an  article  was  to  be 
found. 

"  We  shall  have  to  go  cautiously  now,"  said 
he,  before  resuming  the  march.  "  The  Injuns 
are  not  far  off,  as  ye  may  see  by  yonder  thin  line 
o'  smoke  that  rises  aboj^e  the  trees  on  the  moun- 
tain side.  If  they  are  the  men  we  seek,  they're 
sharp  as  foxes,  so  we'll  have  to  step  like  the 
painter." 


thru   h- 

panther    was     thu~ 

. 
the] 

•;1)<T   ha 
' 

whi< 

. 

>1   him 
i  of  his  doing  i.  ut 


DISCOVERY   OF   THE    RED    WARRIORS.          147 

what  he  was  desired  to  do,  and  keeping  as  quiet 
as  a  mouse.  This  the  artist  promised  to  do,  and 
the  two  accordingly  set  forth,  armed  with  their 
knives  and  the  two  pistols.  Bertram  also  carried 
his  sword.  The  rest  of  the  party  were  to  remain 
in  ambush  until  the  return  of  the  others. 

During  the  first  part  of  their  advance  through 
the  wood  Bertram  trod  as  softly  and  carefully  as 
an  Indian,  and  watched  every  motion  of  his 
companion,  who  led  him  down  into  a  ravine 
which  conducted  them  to  within  a  few  hundred 
yards  of  the  camp.  From  the  absence  of  such 
noises  as  the  barking  of  dogs  and  shouts  of 
children,  the  old  trapper  conjectured  that  this 
must  be  either  a  party  of  trappers  or  a  war  party 
of  Indians.  A  few  minutes'  creeping  on  hands 
and  knees  through  the  underwood  brought  them 
to  a  spot  whence  the  camp  could  be  seen,  and 
showed  that  in  the  latter  conjecture  he  was  right. 
The  red  warriors,  forty  in  number,  were  seated 
in  a  circle  round  their  watch  fire  smoking  their 
tomahawks  in  moody  silence. 

To  the  eye  of  Bertram  they  all  seemed  to  be 
lost  in  dreamy  reverie,  but  Redhand  observed, 
with  a  feeling  of  anxiety,  that  he  who  seemed  to 
be  their  chief  sat  in  that  peculiar  attitude  which 
indicates  intense  attention.  Laying  his  hand  on 
Bertram's  shoulder,  the  old  man  said,  in  the 
faintest  possible  whisper  — 

"  Yonder  sits  the  thief,  an't  he  ?  " 


148  THE    WILD    MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 

.  thr  Indian  I 

i    violently,   and    loo 

heard. 

1.       M  Thr    th 

. 
. 

I    Iiirani 
to  hi  .Id  iiiHii. 

ce** 

Illdi 

liandrd  on   tin-  \ 

LTround 

iiis 


CAPTURE   OF   BERTRAM   AND   REDHAND.        149 

his  party  lay,  as  softly  and  noiselessly  as  if  he  had 
been  bred  to  the  work  from  infancy.  On  regain- 
ing the  edge  of  the  ravine,  they  rose  and  advanced 
in  a  crouching  posture.  Then  Bertram  sighed 
and  felt  that  imminent  danger  was  over.  Alas f 
that  feeling  of  partial  security  cost  him  dear.  The 
step  that  succeeded  the  sigh  was  a  careless  one. 
His  foot  caught  in  a  projecting  root,  and  next 
moment  he  went  headforemost  into  the  centre  of 
a  decayed  bush  with  a  crackling  crash  that  was 
absolutely  appalling  in  the  circumstances. 

Redhand  cast  upon  the  luckless  man  one  glance 
of  horror,  and  uttering  the  words,  "  Run  for  your 
life !  "  dashed  down  the  bank,  and  coursed  along 
the  bottom  like  a  hare.  At  the  same  moment 
that  terrific  yell,  which  has  so  often  chilled  the 
heart's  blood  of  men  and  women  in  those  western 
wilds,  rang  through  the  forest,  telling  that  they 
were  discovered,  and  that  the  Indians  were  in 
pursuit. 

Bertram  kept  close  to  the  heels  of  the  old  trap- 
per at  first,  but  before  he  had  run  fifty  yards  he 
tripped  and  fell  again.  On  attempting  to  rise 
he  was  seized  and  thrown  violently  to  the  ground 
by  an  Indian  warrior.  Looking  back  and  ob- 
serving this,  Redhand  turned  at  once,  like  a  hare 
doubling  on  its  course,  and  rushed  to  the  rescue ; 
but  before  he  reached  his  friend  he  was  surrounded 
by  a  dozen  yelling  Indians.  At  the  foremost  of 
these  he  levelled  his  pistol,  but  the  faithless  weapon 
18* 


WILD    M 

ind    he  w:is  ill    the    B 

.  \,  hrn   ;i   1.1,. 

him  ad 

.iidiiiiT  to  tin- 
tin-  \ 

In-held     ;m  lining     i 

amp  :i*es  rushing   toward 

•nid 

••i:il  eonl 
80   t 


111:  tin-  hushes  so  as  i 

tin-  canoe  had  1 
formrr   >c   (JUK  kly  th:it 

1  him.      I 
thr  tin* 

\vlio  r:u: 

! 
tnick,  lad  j 

hi.-,  hcih  in  an 


BOUNCE'S  LIFE  IN  DANGER.  151 

made  a  sudden  rush  at  the  foremost  Indian,  who 
little  dreamed  of  such  an  attack,  and  hit  him  with 
the  paddle  with  all  his  force.  The  savage  dropped 
like  a  stone,  and  the  paddle  flew  into  a  dozen 
splinters.  This  was  a  foolish  act  on  the  part  of 
Bounce,  for  the  second  Indian  was  now  close  upon 
him,  and,  seeing  the  fate  of  his  companion,  he 
.  stopped  short,  and  hastily  fitted  an  arrow  to  his 
bow.  Just  then  several  of  the  savages  burst  from 
the  wood  with  fierce  cries.  There  was  no  time 
to  lose.  Bounce  turned,  pushed  off  the  canoe, 
and  leaped  in  as  an  arrow  grazed  his  neck. 

The  bold  trapper's  condition  seemed  hopeless ; 
for,  having  broken  the  paddle  to  pieces,  he  could 
not  propel  his  little  bark  out  of  danger.  The 
stream  was  broad  and  rapid  at  that  place,  and 
swept  him  away  swiftly.  Immediately  a  shower 
of  arrows  fell  around  him,  some  grazing  his  person 
and  piercing  his  clothes  and  the  canoe,  but  for- 
tunately not  wounding  him. 

Meanwhile  three  of  the  Indians  darted  down 
stream,  and,  throwing  themselves  into  the  cur- 
rent, swam  out  so  as  to  intercept  the  canoe  as 
it  passed.  Bounce,  having  laid  down,  at  fulJ 
length  in  the  bottom  of  his  tiny  bark  to  avoid  the 
arrows  which  were  discharged  at  him,  did  not 
observe  these  men,  and  the  first  intimation  he 
had  of  what  was  taking  place  was  the  canoe  being 
nearly  upset,  as  a  powerful  savage  laid  hold  of  the 
side  of  it. 


WILD   MAN   OP  THE   WEST. 

To  » 

if   Indian,  SO  as  I 

>e  savage  fell  ku-k  \\  i 
i.  The  others  set 
:nrd  and  ED 

ini:  tin-  trap;  .!»•  India;  ,ml- 

rhi'ir  OOl  ad  cease*, 

arro  n  they  again  ventured  to  <!• 

re. 
hisopp^  Aa  he  .< 

all 

• 
.  anij    up 

edge  of  thr  uii-. 

turning    round,    shook     i 

ish  howl,  an  M>ud  of  arrows,  n 

of  \vhirh  frll   -In 

-   to   the  <^roi 
had  i'inrr»'d  • 


BOUNCE   THINKS   OF   NUMBER   ONE.  153 


CHAPTER    IX-. 

Bounce  cogitates  upon  the  embarrassing  Circumstances  of  his  Con- 
dition.—  Discovery  of  Black  Gibault  —  Terrible  Fate  in  Store 
for  their  Comrades.  —  A  Mode  of  Rescue  planned.  —  Dreadful 
Effects  of  Fire-water.  —  The  Rescue. 

ABOUT  ten  minutes  after  making  his  escape 
from  his  Indian  foes,  Bounce  seated  himself  on 
the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  and  began  to  think 
upon  "  Number  One." 

A  little  red  squirrel  had  been  seated  on  the 
trunk  of  that  tree  just  two  minutes  before  his 
arrival.  It  was  now  seated  on  the  topmost 
branch  of  a  neighboring  pine,  looking  at  the  un- 
ceremonious intruder,  with  a  pair  of  brilliant 
black  eyes,  indignantly. 

Possibly  the  reader  may  think  that  it  was  selfish 
of  Bounce,  at  such  a  time,  to  devote  much  atten- 
tion to  Number  One.  He  had  just  escaped  ;  he 
vvas  in  comparative  safety ;  he  was  free  ;  while 
here  could  be  little  or  no  doubt  that  his  late 
companions  were  prisoners,  if  not  killed,  and 
that,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  they  would 
eventually  suffer  death  by  torture.  At  such  a 
time  and  in  such  circumstances  it  would  be 
more  natural,  even  in  a  selfish  man,  to  think  of 


TE 

i    iliry    M  cm.       .Mm 

;   BO  on  this  OCCai 

. 


BOUNCE'S  REASONING.  155 

At  this  point  Bounce  recollected  having  seen 
an  Indian  missionary  who  had  been  taken  when 
a  boy  from  his  father's  wigwam  and  educated 
and  who  had  turned  out  as  good  and  respectable 
a  Christian  gentleman  as  most  white  men,  and 
better  than  many,  so  he  checked  himself  and 
said :  — 

"  Leastwise  they  can't  be  nothin'  but  savages 
so  —  so  long  as  they  is  savages." 

This  argument,  although  exceedingly  obvious, 
seemed  even  to  his  own  mind  to  possess  so  little 
power,  that  he  endeavored  to  enforce  it  by  slap- 
ping his  thigh  with  such  energy  that  the  body  of 
the  red  squirrel  nearly  jumped  out  at  its  own 
eyes.  It  clasped  the  tree-stem  to  its  beating 
heart  bravely,  however,  and,  judging  from  its 
subsequent  conduct,  speedily  recovered  its  self- 
possession. 

"  That's  how  it  is,"  continued  Bounce  ;  "  an' 
that  bein'  the  case,  savages  always  invariably 
thinks  o'  number  one,  before  they  thinks  on 
nothin'  else.  Now,  as  men  judge  theirselves  so 
they  judges  of  others  —  that's  a  fact,  as  all  fee- 
losophy  has  preclaimed,  an'  all  experience  has 
pruven.  Wot  then?  Why,  them  savages  '11 
think  Fve-cleared  off —  made  tracks  —  thankful  to 
git  away  with  my  own  skin  whole,  and  carin'  no 
more  for  my  comrades  than  if  they  wos  so  many 
stumps.  Thinkin'  that,  of  coorse  they'll  think 
it's  o'  no  use  to  try  to  cross  the  river  and  give 


156 

f  SO, 

aboi  'd  !    very  go 

r   j>;i\V    1 

'  s  recall  me  to  mind." 

:  the  trapper  >o  p 

he  chuckled  in  a  <p;  .  and  in  doing  so 

'hat 

\vhirh    had    remained   for  8or 
in  i;an  to  ^1 

.ess. 

•\V,     I'll     tell  »!     I'll     cL 

iis  look  of  £ri 
u  I'll  go 

rn 

the  -m 

.  hen  :i  H, 

lie     t  ! : : 

)ed  up  fr-  iallen    1 

roin  the  >pot  \\  |1 
tude,    t!  idly 


BOUNCE'S  RECOKNOISANCE.  157 

into  empty  space  and  vanished  from  the  scene 
forever ! 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Bounce  glided  noise- 
lessly through  the  forest,  keeping  a  course  par- 
allel with  the  river.  In  the  deepening  gloom  of 
evening,  he  appeared  more  like  a  spectre  than  a 
human  being  —  so  quick  and  agile  were  his  mo- 
tions as  he  flitted  past  the  tree-stems,  yet  so 
noiseless  the  tread  of  his  moccasined  feet.  The 
bushes  were  thick  and  in  places  tangled,  com- 
pelling him  to  stoop  and  twist  and  diverge  right 
and  left  as  he  sped  along,  but,  being  unencum- 
bered with  weapons  or  weight  of  any  kind,  he 
advanced  so  rapidly  that  in  the  short  space  of 
time  we  have  mentioned  he  stood  opposite  to 
that  part  of  the  bank  where  the  attack  had  been 
made,  and  below  which  he  had  been  swept  for  a 
great  distance  in  the  canoe  by  the  rapid  stream. 

Here  he  spent  some  time  in  reconnoitring  the 
opposite  bank,  but  without  gathering  much  in- 
formation from  his  observations.  No^ymptorn 
of  the  presence  of  human  beings  could  be  dis- 
covered. No  column  of  smoke  rising  above  the 
trees  to  tell  of  the  watch-fire  of  white  man  or 
red.  The  trapper  listened  intently,  then  he  be- 
thought him,  for  the  first  time,  of  giving  the 
signal  which,  at  setting  out  on  their  journey, 
they  had  agreed  to  use  in  all  circumstances  of 
danger.  It  was  the  low  howl  of  a  wolf  followed 
immediately  by  the  hoot  of  an  owl.  The  re- 

14 


. 
ho? 

*  signal   i  u » 

litinir  a 
Forth  airain.      Ii 

\vas  heard  on  tin-  oppo-itr   I 

;li;tn     1> 
.nit. 

iiMlr 
,;ui.       Ill  iivr  ininutrs  hr  hail  . 

' 
. 


GILAULT'S  NARRATIVE.  159 

"  Non  ;  dey  be  all  alive,  for  certain." 

"  I'm  thankful  for  that  —  very  thankful.  Now 
go  ahead,  lad,  and  tell  me  what  ye  know,  while  I 
pull  on  my  leggins." 

"  Veil,  dey  be  alive,  as  I  have  say.  Mais  dey 
not  live  long." 

Gibault  said  this  with  such  a  look  of  woe- 
begone despair  that  Bounce  paused  in  the  midst 
of  his  dressing  and  said  with  much  anxiety  — 
"  Wot's  wrong!  — why  not,  lad  ?  " 

"  'Cause  dey  vill  be  tortured  to  death  demain, 
or  de  day  apres  de  morrow.  Stay,  I  vill  tell  to 
you  all  I  knows.  You  mus'  know,  ven  I  run 
avay  from  you,  I  do  so  'cause  I  know  dat  canoe 
ver'  probabilie  git  opturned,  so  I  come  to  river 
bank  before  every  von.  Dere  is  von  big  tree 
dere,  so  op  I  go  like  von  skvirrel.  You  know  vat 
come  to  pass  apres  dat.  You  smash  de  head  of 
de  Injun,  aussi,  you  smash  de  paddil.  Den  you 
escape,  an'  de  Injuns  howl  vid  passion ! 

Ver'  soon  after  dat,  dey  all  come  to  de  bank 
of  river  —  forty  of  'em,  I  tink  —  draggin'  our 
comerades  vid  dem,  all  tied  by  de  wrist — Red- 
hand,  an'  Big  Valler,  an'  March,  an'  Hawksving, 
an'  poor  Monsieur  Bertram.  Mais,  dat  Monsieur 
Bertram,  be  most  'straordinary  man !  He  terrible- 
ment  frightened  for  every  leetil  ting,  but  him  not 
fright  von  bit  for  big  ting !  Hims  look  at  de 
sauvage  dat  hold  him  as  if  him  be  a  lion,  x  do 


160  WILD   M 

ur   ]J«-n 
ol>, 

L^ood  deal   of  c< 
puirrin',  dej 

;tll   to  de  ground.     It  vas  v« 

V()H 

r    Injun.      \  !      1    link 

inn  else 

1101 

.     1 1<>  turns  t: 

>ud  laugh,  li 
'  Veil  d 

: 

\i\  dfii  lu«  laiiLrh  again.     Ah!  I- 

r    liini    1 

.-1    h;ii:'-r  his 

:n. 


DESPAIK   OF   BOUNCE   AND    GIBAULT.          161 

Bounce's  honest  face  assumed  an  expression  of 
deep  anxiety,  for,  fertile  though  his  resources 
usually  were,  he  could  not  at  that  moment  con- 
ceive how  it  was  possible  for  two  unarmed  men, 
either  by  force  or  stratagem,  to  rescue  five  com- 
rades who  were  securely  bound,  and  guarded  by 
forty  armed  warriors,  all  of  whom  were  trained 
from  infancy  in  the  midst  of  alarms  that  made 
caution  and  intense  watchfulness  second  nature 
to  them. 

"  It  looks  bad,"  said  Bounce,  sitting  down  on 
a  stone,  clasping  his  hard  hands  together,  and 
resting  an  elbow  on  each  knee.  "  Sit  ye  down, 
Gibault.  We'll  think  a  bit,  an'  then  go  to  work. 
That's  wot  we'll  do  — d'ye  see  ?  " 

"  Non,  I  don't  see,"  groaned  Gibault.  "  Vat 
can  ve  do  ?  Two  to  forty !  If  it  was  only  swords 
ve  had  to  fight  vid  —  Hah  !  But  alas  ;  we  have 
noting  —  dey  have  every  ting." 

"  True,  lad,  force  won't  do,"  returned  Bounce ; 
"  an'  yit,"  he  added,  knitting  his  brows,  "  if 
nothin'  else  '11  do,  we'll  try  at  least  how  much 
force  '11  do." 

After  a  short  pause,  Bounce  resumed,  —  "  Wos 
they  tied  very  tight,  Gibault  ?  " 

"  Oui.  I  see  de  cords  deep  in  de  wrists,  an' 
poor  Redhand  seem  to  be  ver'  moch  stunned ;  he 
valk  as  if  hims  be  dronk. 

"  Drunk !  "  exclaimed  Bounce,  suddenly  spring- 
ing up  as  if  he  had  received  an  electric  shock, 

14* 


THE    WILD   MAN   OF  T1IE   WK 

\\}i\  inoilK'iit.    hr    LT:i 

"ii  pii.-hini:  him  v'n>initl\ 
round    and    •  -loni:   th- 

ult.    I'll 

of  ^ 

\vlii  1  \vhirh  ' 

— 

• 

i    \\hirh 

. 

:ik    until 
tin.  -  in   this 

. 

into 

halt, 
ihrir    \. 

'J'li 


PLAN   TO   AVOID   DISCOVERY.  163 

their  path,  as  if  they  wished  them  success  in  their 
enterprise.  It  was  all-important  that  they  should 
reach  the  Indian  camp  before  day-break ;  so, 
although  footsore  and  weary  from  their  late  exer- 
tion after  a  long  day's  march,  they  nevertheless 
ran  steadily  on  at  a  long  swinging  trot,  which 
brought  them,  to  their  inexpressible  joy,  much 
sooner  than  they  had  anticipated,  to  their  jour- 
ney's end. 

It  was  two  hours  before  dawn  when  they  came 
suddenly  upon  the  camp,  —  so  suddenly  that  they 
had  to  crouch  the  instant  they  saw  the  watch- 
fires,  in  order  to  avoid  being  discovered. 

"  Now,  Gibault,"  whispered  Bounce,  "  you'll 
have  to  remain  here.  Get  into  a  hiding-place  as 
fast  as  ye  can,  and  keep  close.  You're  clever 
enough  to  know  what  to  do,  and  when  to  do  it. 
Only,  lad,  come  near  and  have  your  knife  handy 
when  the  row  is  at  the  loudest,  and  see  that  ye 
don't  let  the  squaws  cut  out  our  livers  when  we're 
tied  up." 

Gibault  nodded  significantly. 

"  It's  a  curious  fact,"  continued  Bounce,  in  a 
somewhat  sad  tone, "  that  I'm  more  afraid  o'  the 
squaws  than  o'  the  men.  Hows'ever,  it's  got  to 
be  done ! " 

So  saying,  Bounce  shouldered  the  keg,  and, 
shaking  his  comrade  bjt  the  hand,  as  if  he  felt 
that  he  might  be  parting  with  him  forever,  he 
glided  into  the  darkness  of  the  forest,  leaving 


1     I  THE    WILD   MAN   OF   THE    V 

i    ill 

!j). 

•  -f  ohsrrvatiHii  tlir  )><>or  ( 

Ol  ralcui 
;>  l:iy  in  a  hollov.  .  :  l»y 

!)l;r/r<l   ;i   l;trLr«'  cMiup  fire.      \l 
\va: 

rsrs  hoi. 

. 

illi- 
:ially,   a-  f  tin: 

()1'1       111'  .       tlll'Sl'       ll«'l| 

M'liili*    (  •  \vitli 

miii 


BOUNCE   AND   HIS   FIRE-WATER.  165 

whole  band  of  Indians  suddenly  sprang  to  their 
feet  and  seized  their  weapons.  Almost  at  the 
same  moment  Bounce  strode  into  the  circle  of 
light  and  deposited  his  cask  on  the  ground. 
Then,  making  signs  of  peace,  he  advanced 
toward  one  of  the  Indians,  who,  from  his  dress 
and  appearance,  seemed  to  be  the  chief,  and 
presented  him  with  a  piece  of  tobacco.  The 
chief  accepted  the  gift  in  silence. 

Bounce,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  many 
of  the  dialects  of  that  region,  had  no  difficulty  in 
making  himself  understood.  He  stated  that  he 
was  a  trapper,  that  he  had  come  to  that  country 
to  trade,  and  asked  whether  his  Indian  friends 
had  furs  to  dispose  of.  As  he  had  anticipated, 
the  savages  were  in  no  mood  to  treat  with  a  sol- 
itary man  who  was  entirely  in  their  power.  The 
chief,  who  evidently  suspected  that  he  was  a 
friend  of  the  prisoners,  instead  of  replying,  asked 
him  sarcastically  what  he  had  in  the  keg. 

"  Fire-water,"  replied  Bounce,  unhesitatingly. 

At  this  the  eyes  of  the  savages  sparkled  with 
delight.  Not  deigning  to  waste  more  time  with 
him,  they  seized  the  unfortunate  trapper,  and 
confronted  him  with  his  companions,  gazing 
earnestly  in  their  faces  the  while  to  observe 
whether  they  betrayed  any  sign  of  recognition. 

It  said  much  for  the  self-control  of  these  hardy 
men,  that,  although  their  comrade  was  thus  sud* 
denly  and  unexpectedly  placed  before  them,  they 


of  their 
niiii   and   on 

\vhi  1    in 

which  til 

f ;  1 1 ! 

\Vrll   \v 

. 

rrihly    and 

iiad    BMI 
•n    of     B 

rtTlainl) 

. 
-srd  away  from  him  \\ith  a  hov .  , 

'i   thrir  ; 
No  one  \\  h  of 

I 


THE   EFFECTS    OF   FIRE-WATER.  167 

The  head  of  the  keg  was  quickly  knocked  in, 
and  the  eyes  of  the  savages  seemed  positively  to 
flash  as  they  gazed  upon  the  precious  fluid. 
The  chief  advanced  first  with  a  little  tin  mug, 
such  as  was  sold  to  them  by  traders,  and  drank 
a  deep  draught ;  he  then  handed  the  cup  to 
another,  but  the  impatience  of  the  others  could 
not  be  restrained ;  they  crowded  round  with 
their  mugs,  and  dipping  them  into  the  keg,  drank 
eagerly,  while  the  squaws,  who  loved  the  fire- 
water as  much  as  did  their  masters,  formed  an 
outer  circle,  and,  as  patiently  as  they  could, 
awaited  their  turn.  They  knew  full  well  that  it 
would  soon  come. 

The  Indians,  being  unaccustomed  to  frequent 
potations,  were  quickly  maddened  by  the  spirit, 
which  mounted  to  their  brains  and  rushed 
through  their  veins  like  wild-fire,  causing  every 
nerve  in  their  strong  frames  to  tingle.  Their 
characteristic  gravity  and  decorum  vanished. 
They  laughed,  they  danced,  they  sang,  they 
yelled,  like  a  troop  of  incarnate  fiends!  Then 
they  rushed  in  a  body  toward  their  prisoners, 
and  began  a  species  of  war-dance  round  them, 
flourishing  their  tomahawks  and  knives  close  to 
their  faces  as  if  they  were  about  to  slay  them ; 
shrieking  and  howling  in  the  most  unearthly 
manner,  and  using  all  those  cruel  devices  that 
are  practised  by  Red  Indians  to  terrify  those 
unfortunates  whom  they  intend  ultimately  to  kilL 


1G8 

\varriors  observed  tliut  the 

ilthily  :ij»j»rn:irhi: 
;md    ru-hed    toward    I  'ill    :i    ln>\vl    « 

the  \vo: 

upon    t 

h«T- 

. 

Mrii!y  :i  younir  mini   rusluMl 

ful  ree  *>f  the  muni- 

unkcn  /;/  /  '/•  bet  : 

l>een  too  mudi  ii 
ihnn    ;. 

•illy 

ill,     t(>     \\  ! 

to   be    th« 

be    ; 


GIBAULT   RELEASES   HIS    COMRADES.  169 

And  now  Gibault  Noir  felt  that  it  was  time  for 
him  to  draw  near  to  the  horrible  scene,  in  order 
to  be  ready,  when  the  moment  should  arrive,  to 
release  the  prisoners,  or  to  protect  them  in  the 
event  of  any  of  the  drunken  crew  being  tempted 
to  a  premature  slaughter. 

The  women  were  now  actively  interfering  to 
prevent  further  bloodshed.  Most  of  the  Indians 
were  already  dead  drunk.  Only  a  few,  whose 
powers  of  endurance  were  greater  than  those  of 
their  comrades,  continued  to  shout  their  war- 
songs.  When  these  were  down,  the  women 
rushed  at  the  spirits  like  wolves.  Even  the  little 
children  came  out  from  the  tents  and  got  their 
share.  It  was  a  terrible  scene,  such  as  has,  alas  ! 
been  often  enacted  before  in  the  wilds  of  the  Far 
West,  and,  doubtless,  shall  be  enacted  again, 
unless  (so-called)  Christian  traders  give  up  fire- 
water as  an  article  of  traffic. 

In  a  very  short  space  of  time  the  women  were 
.  as  helpless  as  their  masters.  Then  Gibault  cut 
the  thongs  that  bound  his  comrades,  and  set  them 
free! 

"  Thanks,  thanks  to  the  Almighty,"  said  Ber- 
tram, earnestly,  when  his  bonds  were  cut.  "  I 
had  thought  that  my  days  were  numbered ;  that 
it  was  to  be  my  sad  fate  to  fill  a  grave  here  in 
the  wilderness.  But  H',s  hand  is  indeed  mighty 
to  save.  And  thajiks  be  to  you,  good  Gibault. 
Under  God  we  owe  our  lives  to  you." 

15 


170 

Bertram  attempted  to  B6J  hand  as 

he  spoke,  but  his  o\\  11  han< 
to    his  will.     They    had    l>een    so   long   and  so 
tightly  bound  that  they  were  utterly  powerless. 

b  'cm.  nil.  'cm  well,"  said  ( iibauli,  sei/inLT 
the  ing  his  < 

'y. 
.   that's  Redhand,   whd,  with   his 

i.  the  in-tan:  he  wa- 
rub  and  chafe    1; 
limbs  into  \  .as  if  hi- 

as  indeed  lh> 

1    extent,  for,  had    th- 
to    li  '    tliat    nunii-  eonld    1 

neither. 

"  Now.  lads,"  said   B<»nn< 

horl  time,  was  nnhm 

bond-,  "  \\  h  i  I'll 

tell  ye  \  Them  - 

to    the     j 

Of    course,    bein'    white     n. 

•    kill    tli-  heir 

;>» " 

interriij 
hand,   u  who 

jot    the 
eha- 

the  pity.     It'>  sich-like  ! 

ps  honest   tnippers  and  i'ur-traders  for  iver  in 


BOUNCE'S  PLAN  ACCEPTED.  171 

hot  water  here.  Howsomediver,  we're  not  agoin' 
to  turn  ourselves  into  brute  beasts  'cause  they're 
turned  theirselves  into  sich." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  o'  that,"  broke  in  Big  Waller, 
casting  a  scowling  glance  on  the  savages  as  he 
surveyed  a  wound  in  his  left  arm,  which,  al- 
though not  serious,  from  want  of  dressing,  suffi- 
ciently painful,  "  I  calc'late  it  would  serve  them 
reptiles  right  if  we  was  to  wrhangskiver  the  whole 
on  'em  as  they  lie." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve,"  retorted  Bounce,  "  that 
'  whangskiver '  is  either  English,  Injun,  French, 
or  Yankee ;  but  if  it  means  killin'  you'll  do 
nothing  o'  the  sort.  Here's  what  we'll  do.  We'll 
ketch  as  many  horses  as  wos  took  from  Mr. 
Bertram's  fellers,  an'  as  many  guns  too  (the  same 
ones  if  we  can  lay  hands  on  'em),  an'  as  much 
powder  an'  shot  an'  other  things  as  that  keg  o' 
brandy  is  worth,  an'  then  we'll  bid  the  red-skins 
good-by  without  wakenin'  of  'em  up." 

"  Goot,"  ejaculated  Gibault,  pausing  in  hi? 
manipulation  of  the  artist,  "  now  you  can  do !  " 

"  Capital ;  thanks,  I  feel  quite  strong  again." 

"  I  say,  Gibault,"  observed  March,  ruefully, 
"  they've  almost  sawed  through  the  skin  o'  my 
ankle.  I've  no  left  foot  at  all,  as  far  as  feelin' 
goes." 

"  Hah !  me  boy,  'tis  well  you  have  foot  left, 
though  you  not  feel  left  foot !  Let  me  see." 

"  That's  it,  Gibault,  rub  away ;  if  your  jokes 


good  as  ym; 

.  for  the  ] 

:nd    rul>  ipiiiiT 

1    up    in 

;  i   bond 

:i^  tin-in  tli.  his 

llicll   he 

. 

hol>M'-<l,   Ell 

Thru  : 

Miiimmiitioi 

id  sugar,  :ui< 

\vlr--  !••    up  ii  ' 

as   80    :•: 

Thi-    wafl    :i  much    Bfl 

\  i.-hed  to 
chihlren   of    the    \\ildn  IH-»  e    at 


DEEP 'SORROW   OF   REDHAND.  173 

least  some  white  trappers  who  were  actuated  by 
different  and  kindlier  feelings  than  many  who 
sought  their  livelihood  in  those  regions. 

"  Hullo !  wot  have  we  here  ?  "  cried  Big  Wal- 
ler, who  was  poking  inquisitively  about  among 
the  tents,  to  the  consternation  of  the  poor  Indian 
children,  who  lay  huddled  up  in  their  rabbit-skin 
blankets,  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  ex- 
pecting to  be  scalped  forthwith,  —  such  of  them, 
at  least,  as  were  old  enough  to  expect  any  thing. 
"  Here's  your  blunderbusses,  I  guess,  mister." 

"  What !  my  pistols,"  cried  Bertram,  seizing  his 
weapons  with  as  much  delight  as  if  they  had 
been  really  serviceable. 

"  Hah !  ver'  goot  for  play  vid,"  observed 
Gibault,  contemptuously. 

"  I  say,  here's  something  else,"  said  Bounce, 
picking  up  a  rifle. 

"  Wah !  "  exclaimed  Hawkswing,  pointing  to 
the  weapon  in  surprise,  and  turning  his  eyes  on 
Redhand. 

"  Wot !  d'ye  know  who  it  belonged  to  ?  " 
inquired  Bounce. 

An  expression  of  deep  sorrow  overspread  Red- 
hand's  countenance.  "  Ay,"  said  he,  mournfully, 
I  know  it  well.  It  belonged  to  young  Blake." 
Glancing  quickly  up  at  a  place  where  several 
scalps  were  hanging  to  a  pole,  he  took  one  down, 
and,  after  gazing  at  it  sadly  for  a  few  seconds,  he 
added,  in  a  tone  of  deep  melancholy  —  "Poor, 


171  THE    WILD    M 


li;id  ;i  hc;ir:y  Bpirh    an'   a   kindly 
liuniin' 

Ber- 
old     irappn-'s    look     :ind 

••  Ay.  ay,    li  he    was,"    said    Kedhand, 

.   and   with    a    Mernness   of    main.' 

1    his  coinpiinions  :  KOOme,  1 
nit!      The   riMl.-kins   won't   part  \\ilh   plundrr 
«ut  malxiiiLf  an  <  ll'Tt  to  | 
«  But,    StO]  rrird     1 

be 
\ 

loncs  -  \\  •<•'  . 

. 
tin-  inoi  L'ood  hit   from  i; 

u  What  rf  that?  w 

\vh  -.».  rll 

ini»i  _.,    and    I. 

-  W<  !! 

Her. 

«-n  we'll   do  .itinir 

1:111 

in  a  few 
-illy 
down  tin-  ravine  in  \\  hVh  the  li, 


OUT   ON   THE   PRAIRIE.  175 

situated.  Leaving  this  quickly  behind,  they 
trotted  briskly  along  the  more  open  banks  of  the 
river  until  they  gained  a  level  sweep  of  land  which 
terminated  in  a  belt  of  low  bushes.  Beyond  this 
lay  the  great  plains.  Breaking  into  a  gallop,  they 
speedily  cleared  the  underwood,  and  just  as  the 
rosy  smile  of  morning  beamed  in  the  eastern  sky, 
they  dashed  away,  with  light  hearts  and  loose 
reins,  out  upon  the  springy  turf  of  the  open 
prairie. 


C  II  APT  Kit     X. 


~ctle.*h.  —  Komarks   0:1  -  and 

and  Sight*  on  t  Mountain  1 

rulcrful  tiling  —  il  \v» 
i*  so  nob! 

ihr  ••«!  in  S*M  '  :li  :i 

•  ninny  [ 

niii- 
iii    a    C8  ;!ito 

rtheless, 

Ull- 

will  .-}>( 

i    hr  \\  ill    talk  of 

and    his    Imr 

each  for 


THE    TRAITEll   AND    HIS   HOUSE.  177 

man  and  horse  to  amalgamate.  On  the  one 
hand,  the  horse  is  tended,  hobbled,  patted,  sad- 
dled, spoken  to,  watched  over,  and  tenderly  cared 
for  by  the  man ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  man  is 
carried,  respected,  sometimes  bitten  (playfully), 
depended  on,  and  loved  by  the  horse.  Day  after 
day,  and  week  after  week,  the  limbs  of  the  one 
and  the  ribs  of  the  other  are  pressed  against  each 
other,  until  they  become  all  but  united,  and  the 
various  play  of  muscles  on  the  part  of  both 
becomes  so  delicately  significant  that  the  bridle, 
to  a  great  extent,  becomes  unnecessary,  and  the 
rider  feels  when  the  horse  is  about  to  shy,  just  as 
quickly  as  the  horse  feels,  by  a  gentle  pressure 
on  either  side,  how  much  the  rider  wishes  him 
to  diverge  to  the  right  or  left. 

Sometimes  the  horse  breaks  his  hobbles  and 
runs  away,  thus  aggravating  the  spirits  of,  and 
causing  infinite  annoyance  to,  the  man.  Fre- 
quently the  man,  out  of  revenge  for  such  or 
similar  freaks,  larrups  and  pains  and  worries  the 
horse.  But  these  little  asperities  are  the  occa- 
sional landmarks  that  give  point  and  piquancy 
to  the  even  tenor  of  their  loving  career.  Neither 
would,  for  a  moment,  think  of  allowing  such 
incidents  to  rankle  in  his  bosom.  Both  would 
repudiate  with  scorn  the  idea  that  they  were  a 
whit  less  useful,  or  in  any  degree  less  attached 
to  each  other  on  account  of  such  trifling  tiffs ! 

Day    after   day,   our   trappers    mounted   their 


els  and  tr 

Hop;  fr< 
at  a  qi< 

,'id   pro- 

168  and    : 

iful 

i:iind  an 

—  having   Bt 
[8  afl  tliry  \vrrr,  \\ith 
>age  on  1 

I    to   th< 

.mil 
•  e  of 

: 

•  rrinir;     and     thus     quad  :      bipeds 

•  be  so  familiar  and  \\  <-ll 

!KT SO      til- 

• 

. 


ON   SLANG.  179 

There  was  one  among  the  quadrupeds  which 
was  striking  in  appearance  —  not  to  say  stun- 
ning. No ;  we  won't  say  stunning,  because  that 
is  a  slang  expression,  and  many  persons  object 
to  slang  expressions  ;  therefore  we  will  avoid  that 
word ;  although  we  confess  being  unable  to  see 
why,  if  it  is  allowable  (as  every  one  will  admit 
it  is)  to  assert  that  men  may  be  mentally 
"  struck,"  it  is  not  equally  proper  to  say  that  they 
may  be  stunned.  But  we  bow  to  prejudice. 
We  won't  say  that  the  horse  was  "  stunning." 
While  on  this  subject,  we  think  it  right  to 
guard  ourself,  parentheticaUy,  from  the  charge  of 
being  favorable  to  all  kinds  of  slang.  We  are 
in  favor  of  speech  —  yes,  we  assert  that  broadly 
and  fearlessly,  without  reservation  —  but  we  are 
not  in  favor  of  all  speech.  Coarse  speech,  for 
instance,  we  decidedly  object  to.  So  we  are  in 
favor  of  slang,  but  not  of  all  slang.  There  are 
some  slang  words  which  are  used  instead  of 
oaths,  and  these,  besides  being  wicked,  are 
exceedingly  contemptible.  Tempting,  however, 
they  are  —  too  apt  to  slip  from  the  tongue  and 
from  the  pen,  and  to  cause  regret  afterwards. 

But  to  return.  Although  we  won't  say  that 
the  quadruped  in  question  was  stunning,  we  will 
say  again  that  it  was  striking  —  so  powerfully 
striking  that  the  force  of  the  stroke  was  calcu- 
lated almost  to  stun.  It  was  uncommonly  tall, 
remarkably  short  in  the  body,  and  had  a  piebald 


it  had  no  t.iil  —  to  sj>ral,  of — as 
tha- 

I 

16  whrn   the 

d  a  gigai 

be  horse 
.  which   was  ^n 

I'a   own    ;  i   was 

.   :i.       II' 

l  —  hut 

bec-i  his  own 

which  hr  h. 

whi  1   with 

16    of    ;i 

Id 
We  have  sa 

to   <  .  re.     1 

•iiinga  of  a  mil: 
duri  e  of  thai 


DOINGS    ON   THE   PRAIRIE.  181 

It  would  require  a  work  equal  in  size  to  the 
"Encyclopaedia  Britannica"  to  contain  all  the 
interesting  things  that  were  said  and  seen  and 
done  on  those  prairies  by  these  trappers  within 
that  brief  space  of  time.  A  conscientiously  par- 
ticular chronicler  of  events  would  have  detailed 
the  route  of  each  day,  the  latitude  and  longitude 
of  each  resting-place,  the  very  nature  of  the  wood 
which  composed  the  fuel  of  each  fire.  He  would 
have  recorded  that  March  Marston's  little  bay 
ran  away  with  him  (not,  in  a  general  way,  fifty 
or  a  hundred  times,  but)  exactly  so  many  times, 
specifying  the  concomitant  circumstances  of  each 
separate  time,  and  the  results  of  each  particular 
race.  He  would  have  noted,  with  painful  accu- 
racy, the  precise  number  of  times  in  which  Theo- 
dore Bertram  (being  a  bad  rider)  fell  off  his  horse, 
or  was  pitched  off  in  consequence  of  that  quad- 
ruped putting  its  foot  inadvertently  into  badger- 
holes.  He  would  have  mentioned  that  on  each 
occasion  the  unfortunate  artist  blackened  his  eye, 
or  bled  or  skinned  his  nasal  organ,  and  would 
have  dilated  anatomically  on  the  peculiar  color 
of  the  disfigured  orb  and  the  exact  amount  of 
damage  done  to  the  bruised  nose.  He  would 
have  told  not  only  the  general  fact  that  bears,  and 
elks,  and  antelopes,  and  prairie-dogs,  and  wolves, 
and  buffaloes,  were  seen  in  great  numbers  contin- 
ually, and  were  shot  in  abundance,  but  he  would 
have  recorded  that  Bertram  did,  on  one  occasion, 

16 


iii  i 

:i'-d  hi-  li 

horse    did    toss    his 

:i  full-tilt  toward  thr  brar  ui:' 

tunird  oil' at  a  sharp  a> 
on  tin-  plain  at  thr  D 

ho  was  in   nowisr  alan 

ith  him  : 
uly  ha\ 

Ige  on  the  onr    hand. 

•  n-nd  1, 
r,    had 

hand  >h<»!  it  thr 

- 

tma 

of   t 

.  &c.,  of  every    li\inir    th  :i    the   LT 

(which  h 


MARCH    BECOMES   MADDER   THAN   EVER.        183 

was  not  the  buffalo,  but  the  bison)  down  to  the 
sly,  impudent,  yet  harmless  little  prairie-dog 
(which  he  would  have  also  carefully  noted  was 
not  the  prairie-dog,  but  the  marmot). 

Had  this  supposed  recorder  of  facts  been  of  an 
erratic  nature,  given  to  wander  from  anecdote  to 
description,  and  vice  versd^  he  would  perhaps  have 
t9ld,  in  a  parenthetical  sort  of  way,  how  that, 
during  these  three  weeks,  the  trappers  enjoyed 
uninterrupted  fine  weather;  how  the  artist 
sketched  so  indefatigably  that  he  at  last  filled 
his  book  to  overflowing  'and  had  to  turn  it  up- 
side down,  begin  at  the  end,  and  sketch  on  the 
backs  of  his  previous  drawings  ;  how  Big  Waller 
and  Black  Gibault  became  inseparable  friends 
and  sang  duets  together  when  at  full  gallop,  the 
latter  shrieking  like  a  wild  cat,  the  former  roaring 
like  a  buffalo  bull ;  how  March  Marston  became 
madder  than  ever,  and  infected  his  little  steed 
with  the  same  disease,  so  that  the  two  together 
formed  a  species  of  insane  compound  that  caused 
Redhand  and  Bounce  to  give  vent  to  many  a  low 
chuckle  and  many  a  deep  sagacious  remark,  and 
induced  Hawkswing  to  gaze  at  it  —  the.  com- 
pound—  in  grave  astonishment. 

All  this  and  a  great  deal  more  might  be  told, 
and,  no  doubt,  might  prove  deeply  interesting. 
But,  as  no  man  can  do  every  thing,  so  no  man  can 
record  every  thing ;  therefore  we  won't  attempt  it, 
but  shall  at  once,  and  without  further  delay,  pro- 


184 

hirh    1>«" 
llir    \V«  If. 

thr  parr  of  hi-  h»>r>r  and  ; 

summit 
UK!   or  hill 

'i  as 

I  ordinary  p! 

••  Men  of  plnok  lofnetimea  g 

i   .Mars'. 

' 

"  So  'urnrd  i, 

y  Iiuntih 

' 

if  ll:  .        1 

. 

I       a      rh 


MARRYING   FOR   PEACE.  185 

o'  war,  that  they  had  to  make  peace  by  givin' 
them  no  end  o'  presents  o'  guns  an'  cloth 
an'  beads  — enough  to  buy  up  the  furs  o'  a 
whole  tribe." 

"  I  guess  they  was  powerful  green  to  do  any 
thing  o'  the  sort,"  said  Big  Waller;  "  I  know'd  a 
feller  as  was  in  command  of  a  party  o'  whites, 
who  got  into  much  the  same  sort  of  fix  with  the 
Injuns  —  always  fightin'  and  murderin' ;  so  what 
does  he  do,  think  ye  ?  " 

"  Shooted  de  chief  and  all  hims  peepil,"  sug- 
gested Gibault. 

"Nothin'  o'  the  sort,"  replied  Waller.  "He 
sends  for  the  chief,  an'  gives  him  a  grand  present, 
an'  says  he  wants  to  marry  his  darter.  An'  so  he 
did  marry  his  darter,  right  off,  an'  the  whites  an' 
redskins  was  friends  ever  after  that.  The  man 
what  did  that  was  a  gentleman  too  —  so  they  said ; 
tho'  for  my  part  I  don't  know  wot  a  gentleman 
is — no  more  do  I  b'lieve  there  ain't  sich  a  thing ; 
but  if  there  be,  an'  it  means  any  thing  good,  I 
calc'late  that  that  man  wos  a  gentleman,  for  w'en 
he  grew  old  he  took  his  old  squaw  to  Canada  with 
him,  'spite  the  larfin'  o'  his  comrades,  who  said 
he'd  have  to  sot  up  a  wigwam  for  her  in  his  gar- 
den. But  he  says,  '  No,'  says  he,  <  I  married 
the  old  ooman  for  better  an'  for  worse,  an'  I'll 
stick  by  her  to  the  last.  There's  too  many  o'  you 
chaps  as  leaves  yer  wives  behind  ye  when  ye  go 
home  —  I'm  detarmined  to  sot  ye  a  better  ex- 

16* 


WILD    M  VRgT. 

An'  so   ln«  did.      He   ink   her  li 

;d  housr 
—  I  |  \\  hic-h.  —  hut  v.  ln-ii  1) 

:KT,  thr  old  ooman  \\ 
on    ihr 

ii;idn't  hin  iiM-d  t<>  ehaire.     1 1  -  Brim : 

.  :isf  tlir   kindlier 

not 
l»rinLT  IHT  into  comji  . 

•  •Id  in;ui  Miid  ; d \vays,  *  SI  »\v- 

'•  Jibault. 

. 

tin-  in- 

i 
u  \\"(.uld   ii 

:dl    kill'.  If  as  wd 

ihc   Inj  . 

men   and   ih 


ARRIVAL   AT   THE   FORT.  187 

"  Ay,  you're  used  to  the  signs,  no  doubt,"  re- 
turned Redhand,  "for  you've  lived  here  once 
upon  a  time,  I  b'lieve." 

The  Indian  made  no  reply,  but  a  dark  frown 
overspread  his  countenance  for  a  few  minutes. 
When  it  passed,  his  features  settled  down  into 
their  usual  state  of  quiet  gravity. 

"  Have  ye  ever  seed  that  fort  before  ?  "  in- 
quired Bounce,  in  the  Indian  tongue. 

"  I  have,"  answered  Hawkswing.  "  Many 
moons  have  passed  since  I  was  in  this  spot.  My 
nation  was  strong  then.  It  is  weak  now.  Few 
braves  are  left.  We  sometimes  carried  our  furs 
to  that  fort  to  trade  with  the  pale-faces.  It  is 
called  the  Mountain  Fort.  The  chief  of  the  pale- 
faces was  a  bad  man  then.  He  loved  fire-water 
too  much.  If  he  is  there  still,  I  do  not  wonder 
that  there  is  war  between  him  and  the  redmen." 

"  That's  bad,"  said  Bounce,  shaking  his  head 
slowly  —  "  very  bad  ;  for  the  redskins  '11  kill  us 
if  they  can,  on  account  o?  them  rascaUy  fur- 
traders.  Hows'ever  we  can't  mend  it,  so  we 
must  bear  it." 

As  Bounce  uttered  this  consolatory  remark, 
the  party  cantered  up  to  the  open  space  in  front 
of  the  gate  of  the  fort,  just  above  which  a  man 
was  seen  quietly  leaning  over  the  wooden  walls 
of  the  place  with  a  gun  resting  on  his  arm. 

"  Hallo !  "  shouted  this  individual,  when  they 
came  within  hail. 


,: 


WILD   MAN   OF   TILE  WEST. 
M  I 

.:i:tinl.    ri  '.v;inl, 

some  of  our   j»r« 
and 

- 

;, 

••  \\  -llrr,  irrullly. 

k.  \\ 
ton,  \vh<).-.'  i    nuist-ii 

(juittii; 

inouir 

. 
;i    in    \n< 


INTERIOR    OF   THE   JTOU.T.  189 

cumstances,  and  built  in  the  same  manner,  at 
the  present  day,  in  the  Hudson's  Bay  territories  ; 
with  this  difference  that  the  Indians,  having  had 
long  experience  of  the  good  intentions  and  the 
kindness  of  the  pale-faces,  no  longer  regard  them 
with  suspicion.  The  walls  were  made  of  strong 
tall  palisades,  with  bastions  built  of  logs  at  the 
corners,  and  a  gallery  running  all  round  inside 
close  to  the  top  of  the  walls,  so  that  the  defend- 
ers of  the  place  could  fire  over  the  palisades,  if 
need  be,  at  their  assailants.  There  was  a  small 
iron  cannon  in  each  bastion.  One  large  gate 
formed  the  entrance,  but  this  was  only  opened 
to  admit  horsemen  or  carts  ;  a  small  wicket  in 
one  leaf  of  the  gate  formed  the  usual  entrance. 

The  buildings  within  the  fort  consisted  of  three 
Little  houses,  one  being  a  store,  the  others  dwell- 
ing-houses, about  which  several  men  and  women 
and  Indian  children,  besides  a  number  of  dogs, 
wTere  grouped.  These  immediately  surrounded 
the  trappers  as  they  dismounted.  "  Who  com- 
mands here  ?  "  inquired  Redhand. 

"  I  do,"  said  the  sentinel  before  referred  to, 
pushing  aside  the  others  and  stepping  forward, 
"  at  least  I  do  at  present.  My  name's  McLeod. 
He  who  ought  to  command  is  drunk.  He's 
always  drunk." 

There  was  a  savage  gruffness  in  the  way  in 
which  McLeod  said  this  that  surprised  the  vis- 


190 

B,  fur    hi-  L  lite- 

nan  ieS. 

I  who  /if  IH\. 

"Oli  regor  — 

see  him  lo-niLrln,  though.      There  '11  be   bio- 
•re  long  if  he  don't    turn  ov« 

if " 

Me  1 1  i*  as  if  he  frit  thai  he 

:.     Th.-n  lie  a.Mnl  in 

ral  to  him  —  ••  .\ 

•-.ho 

se  horses  and  see  iheni 
tin-  ha! 

will  to   e:it    \ 

and  a  I 

:.  \\lio   was  a 
!iLre  eompou  «f  and  a  i:entlei: 

in<  ipal  dwellinir-hoi; 
throwinir  «>I><'n  the  door. 


THE  KECEPTION-IIALL.  191 


CHAPTER    XI. 

Original  Efforts  in  the  Art  of  Painting.  —  Fur-trading  Hospitality.  — 
Wonderful  Accounts  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West,  from  an  Eye- 
'  witness.  — Buffalo-hunting,  Scalping,  Murdering,  and  a  Summary 
Method  of  inflicting  Punishment. 

THE  reception-hall  of  the  Mountain  Fort,  into 
which,  as  we  have  stated,  the  trappers  were  ushered 
by  McLeod,  was  one  of  those  curious  apartments 
which  were  in  those  days  (and  in  a  few  cases 
still  are)  created  for  the  express  purpose  of  "  as- 
tonishing the  natives !  " 

It  was  a  square  room,  occupying  the  centre  of 
the  house,  and  having  doors  all  round,  which 
opened  into  the  sleeping  or  other  departments  of 
the  dwelling.  In  the  front  wall  of  this  room  were 
the  door,  which  led  direct  into  the  open  air,  and 
the  two  windows.  There  were  no  passages  in  the 
house  —  it  was  all  rooms  and  doors.  One  of  these 
doors,  toward  the  back,  opened  into  a  species  of 
scullery  —  but  it  was  not  exactly  a  scullery,  neither 
was  it  a  kitchen,  neither  was  it  a  pantry.  The 
squaws  lived  there — especially  the  cooking-squaws 
—  and  a  few  favored  dogs.  A  large  number 
of  pots  and  pans  and  kettles,  besides  a  good 
deal  of  lumber  and  provisions  in  daily  use,  also 


A  doer  It 

:d  into  a 
\vh; 

ill   thr  ii 

-hall.      'I 
A  alls,  110  dra: 

as  no  m  to  put  ( 

ial  —  wood.      T 

• 

to  .-'  iirir 

d  on  in 

into 

hill- 

Bruit 

- 

:i  jilanh. 
:irir 
boti 

'int  —  n 


DECORATION    OF   T1IE   HALL.  193 

piece  in  the  ceiling,  in  the  execution  of  which 
there  was  an  extraordinary  display  of  what  can 
be  accomplished  by  the  daring  flight  of  an  original 
genius  revelling  in  the  conscious  possession  of 
illimitable  power,  without  the  paralyzing  influ- 
ence of  conventional  education. 

The  device  itself  was  indescribable.  It  was  a 
sun,  or  a  star,  or,  rather,  a  union  and  com- 
mingling of  suns  and  stars  in  violent  contrast, 
wreathed  with  fanciful  fruits  and  foliage,  and 
Cupids,  and  creatures  of  the  now  extinct  species. 
The  rainbow  had  been  the  painter's  palette ; 
Genius  his  brush;  Fancy-gone-mad  his  attend- 
ant ;  the  total  temporary  stagnation  of  redskin 
faculties  his  object,  and  ecstasy  his  general  state 
of  mind,  when  he  executed  this  magnificent 
chefcPasuvre  in  the  centre  of  the  ceiling  of  the 
reception-hall  at  the  Mountain  Fort. 

The  fire-place  was  a  capacious  cavern  in  the 
wall  opposite  the  entrance-door,  in  which,  during 
winter,  there  usually  burned  a  roaring  bonfire  of 
huge  logs  of  wood,  but  where,  at  the  time  of  which 
we  write,  there  was  just  enough  fire  to  enable 
visitors  to  light  their  pipes.  When  that  fire  blazed 
up  in  the  dark  winter  nights,  the  effect  of  that 
gorgeous  apartment  was  dazzling  —  absolutely 
bewildering. 

The  effect  upon  our  trappers  when  they  entered 
was  sufficiently  strong.  They  gazed  round  in 
amazement,  each  giving  vent  to  his  feelings  in  his 

17 


194 

Bounce  smoi 

out  something  tl> 

•  ;ir ; 

—  1  he  laughed  aloud  —  an  u 

I,  and,  1'. 
like  him,  an  unusual  < 

in  his  speech  and  bearing,  was 
of  some  edui 
for  ->ok  the  lid  off  a  large  canister  of 

lg   it    into   th<-   middle  of  ih<- 
.  said  — 

r\;mi|)l'  11    his 

in  tin- 

<>ok  a  j> 

. 

ression  on   h 

M  Ha ! "    B 

Iiall    (|>n!K    pull').       I' 

Bounce,  to  whom  the  light  was  <  > 

the  i  — 


THE  ARTIST  OF  THE  BACKWOODS.      195 

"  Well,  yes  (puff),  it  is  (puff,  puff),  raither  wot 
ye  may  call  (puff)  pecooliar." 

"  Most  visitors  to  this  place  think  so,"  said 
McLeod.  "  The  Indians  highly  approve  of  it, 
and  deem  me  quite  a  marvel  of  artistic  power." 

"  Wot !  did  you  paint  it  ?  "  inquired  Waller. 

"  I  did,"  answered  McLeod,  with  a  nod. 

"  Vraiment,  de  Injuns  am  right  in  deir  opinion 
of  you,"  cried  Gibault,  relighting  his  pipe,  which, 
in  the  astonished  state  of  his  mind,  he  had 
allowed  to  go  out. 

McLeod  smiled,  if  we  may  so  speak,  gravely, 
in  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment. 

"  Ha !  "  cried  Gibault,  turning  to  Bertram,  as 
if  a  sudden  thought  had  occurred  to  him,  "  Mon- 
sieur Bertram  et  Monsieur  Mak  Load,  you  be 
broders.  Oui,  Monsieur  Mak  Load,  dis  mine 
comrade  —  him  be  von  painteur." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  McLeod,  turning  to  the  artist 
with  more  interest  than  he  had  yet  shown  toward 
the  strangers. 

"  I  have,  indeed,  the  honor  to  follow  the  noble 
profession  of  painting,"  said  Bertram,  "  but  I 
cannot  boast  of  having  soared  so  high  as  —  as — " 

"  As  to  attempt  the  frescoes  on  the  ceiling  of  a 
reception-hall  in  the  backwoods,"  interrupted 
McLeod,  laughing.  "  No,  I  believe  you,  sir ;  but, 
although  I  cannot  presume  to  call  you  brother 
professionally,  still  I  trust  that  I  may  do  so  as  an 
amateur.  I  am  "delighted  to  see  you  here.  It  is 


196  -I>   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 

not  oftrn  \\v  an  d  \\iih   the   HI:!:' 

face  of  a  civilized  m;m  in  thrsr  \vild 

"U   an-   plaii: 
;    March 

\  hat  do  you  call  US?" 

•don  me,  young  lied    M< 

;    trapper-,  \\  Inch    mean-  neither  < 
nor  savage;  m-rlnT  li-li,  :  1\>\\1 ?J 

:il  ralim 

th«  t's  wot  may  be  called  a — u — " 

M  Li*  ,"  suggestf(l  \\'ai, 

M  .\o."  .  "it  ain't    ilia;.      1   don't 

lhat      \\ord.         I          |     i ..  1]      -  .  .      ,.     aa1 
to  use  it,  \Vallrr.      It's  i\  cr 

'  so  lin! 
••  \\ 

\\ 

Inn  \\hoin 

\\  h«  \\  I  -:,v. 

irtto 

I,  and  ut   tl 
UK"  s  appeared,  bearing  n 

\\  liitf-lisli  and 

knows  something  about  the  ' 
•  i  o1  tlic  \\'«->t;'  said  March  M  n  a  low, 


FUR-TRADING   HOSPITALITY.  197 

eager   tone,  to    his  comrades.     "  Twice   has  he 
mentioned  his  name  since  we  arrived." 

"  So  he  has,"  observed  Redhand,  "  but  there 
may  be  other  wild  men  besides  our  one." 

"  Unpossible,"  said  Bounce,  emphatically. 

"  Ditto,"  cried  Waller,  still  more  emphatically 
"  what  say  you,  Hawkswing  ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  Wild  Man  of  the  West," 

V 

replied  the  Indian. 

"By  the  way,  Hawkswing,  what  was  the 
name  o'  the  rascally  trader  you  said  was  in 
charge  o'  this  fort  when  you  lived  here  ?  "  asked 
Redhand. 

"  Mokgroggir,"  replied  the  Indian. 

"  Ha,  Macgregor,  ye  mean,  no  doubt." 

Hawkswing  nodded. 

"Here  you  are,  friends,"  said  McLeod,  ree'n- 
teririg  the  room  with  a  large  roll  of  tobacco. 
"  Help  yourselves  and  don't  spare  it.  There's 
plenty  more  where  that  came  from.  But  I  see 
the  steaks  are  ready,  so  let  us  fall  to,  we  can 
smoke  afterwards." 

During  the  repast,  to  which  the  trappers 
applied  themselves  with  the  gusto  of  hungry 
men,  March  Marston  questioned  McLeod  about 
the  Wild  Man. 

"  The  Wild  Man  o'  the  West,"  said  he  in  some 
surprise  ;  "  is  it  possible  there  are  trappers  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains  who  have  not  heard  of  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  March,  hastily,  "  we've  heard 


I'.H  ;  F    THE    WEST. 

>    hrar  n. 

';  nil  Jiur 

>ne  says  ! 

'  BO  on. 

— " 

:    Bouncr's 

ll       ll.'     V  till' 

* 

riflr,"  said    M'-Iieod, 
noise   made    by 

TO  have  got 
•T  wild  .1  about 

1  in*  is  a  gin 
anxi 

i>es  beg:t 
;LII  ordinary  inai. 

."    rrtumrd      M(  I 

•   hi?n   ^« 

him  in    t 

. 
exci  ;rs  for  powder  an  i^ '11 


AN   ACCOUNT   OF   THE   WILD   MAN.  199 

Bpeak  to  no  one,  except  in  the  sharpest,  gruffest 
way.  I  think  he's  mad  myself.  But  he  seems 
to  lead  a  charmed  life  here  ;  for  although  he  has 
had  fights  with  many  of  the  tribes  in  these  parts, 
he  always  puts  them  to  flight,  although  he  fights 
single-handed." 

"  Single-handed !  "  exclaimed  Bounce  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Ay.  I've  seen  him  at  it  myself,  and  can 
vouch  for  it,  that  if  fever  there  was  a  born  fiend 
let  loose  on  this  earth  it's  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West  when  he  sets-to  to  thrash  a  dozen  Indians. 
But  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say,  that  I 
never  heard  of  him  making  an  unprovoked  at- 
tack on  anybody.  When  he  first  came  to  these 
mountains,  many  years  ago  —  before  I  came 
here  —  the  Indians  used  to  wonder  who  he  was 
and  what  he  meant  to  do  ;  then  after  a  while, 
seeing  he  had  a  good  horse,  a  good  rifle,  and 
plenty  of  ammunition,  they  tried  to  kill  him  ; 
but  the  first  fellow  that  tried  that  only  tried  it 
once.  He  lay  in  a  close  thicket  nigh  to  where 
the  Wild  Man  used  to  pass  from  his  home  in  the 
mountains  to  places  where  he  used  to  hunt  the 
elk  and  the  buffalo,  so,  when  he  came  up,  the 
Indian  laid  an  arrow  on  his  bow.  But  the  Wild 
Man's  eye  was  sharp  as  a  needle.  He  stopped 
his  horse,  took  aim  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  and 
shot  him  through  the  head.  I  heard  this  from 
another  Indian  that  was  with  the  murderin'  fel- 


900 

low  Lfl  shot      The   Wiid   .Man  did  not:. 

lie  let  him 
"Of  course  the  relations  of  the  man  who  was 

out   to  murder  the  "Wild    M 

>rses,  spears,  and    bo\vs  with    them,  and 
sit  a  place  where  he  was  of: 
tare  enough,  up  he  came,  on  horee- 

slow  walk,  looking  as  careless  and 
if  no  blood  of  a   H'd-kin  rested  on 
hand. 

'•  It    eh:r 
had    run    out  of  fresh    meat,  so    Mr.    Mae^regor, 

red  me  to  tsi ' 
i,  -and  go   «•  r   thr    builai 

Indians  had  been  treated  by  M 
gregor  so   I-  ay,  thai 

knew  our  N 

I>ened  to  paaa  doee  IM  re  the 

u-h,  and  \\  e  came  to 

of  a   |>r-  the    spot.      \\V 

saw   them    I.eiore   they  saw  us,  so  v.  .jui- 

etly  back  ii  u-h,  tied  our  hor.-es    I 

and  lay  on  the  edg«  litl  to  v.  m. 

•;  In  about  ten  i  Wild 

Man   riding  sio\\  ly    forward.      1 1.-  was  a  strn. 
sight.     It    was    the  'aim, 

although   I  had  often  heard  of  hii. 

u  \\"--il.  on  1  .vith  hi-  head  bent  and  his 


AN   ACCOUNT    OF   THE   WILD    ?:  201 

eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  A  dense  thicket  hid 
his  enemies  from  him,  though  not  from  us,  we 
being  so  high  above  them.  The  Wild  Man  was 
armed  with  his  long  rifle  slung  at  his  back,  a 
hunting  knife,  and  a  small  shield,  such  as  the 
Blackfoot  Indians  use  to  protect  themselves  from 
arrows.  The  only  unusual  sort  of  weapon  he 
carried  was  a  long  sword. 

"  Not  knowing  at  the  time  that  the  Indians 
were  waiting  for  him,  of  course  I  gave  no  alarm 
to  warn  him  of  his  danger.  When  he  came  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  the  thicket,  I  saw  him  push 
his  arm  a  little  further  into  the  handles  of  the 
shield.  It  was  but  a  slight  action  such  as  one 
might  perform  to  ease  the  arm  by  change  of  posi- 
tion ;  but  the  redskins  are  quick-witted.  They 
knew  that  he  suspected  they  were  there,  so,  giv- 
ing one  tremendous  yell,  they  sent  a  cloud  of 
arrows  at  him,  and  sprang  out  upon  the  plain  at 
full  gallop  with  their  spears  lowered. 

"  Instead  of  turning  to  fly  from  such  an  un- 
equal combat,  the  Wild  Man  drew  his  sword  and 
rushed  at  them  like  a  thunderbolt.  His  onset 
was  the  most  awful  thing  I  ever  saw  in  my  life. 
The  plain  seemed  to  shake  under  the  tread  of  his 
gigantic  horse.  His  hair  streamed  wildly  out 
behind  him,  and  as  he  was  coming  toward  me  I 
could  see  that  his  teeth  were  set  and  his  eyes 
flashed  like  those  of  a  tiger.  The  Indians  were 
appalled  by  the  sight.  The  idea  of  one  man 


;    occur:'- 
but   it  v. 

;i    yell    from   th< 

I  saw    ihr   long  sword  gleam   i» 

•    as   tlic   sin-  ^>f  a 

ier  along  the  ground. 

. 

to  pursue   tin-  living  horse- 
erded  not.     The  Wild  Man  was 
living,  he  was  only  unable  at  first  t. 
the    headlong    pace    of  n;<'r.     In    a 

he  \\hrrlrd  about   and  charged  afr 

the  i> 

u  is 

.  . 
Kill    him. 

ts   can  -i«-li 

i  eyes,  ai  horse  is,  like  hin. 

i  .         .Ueh     til'' 

Me!  -  u  of  thi- 

li    his  guest.- 

I  mouthed,  and  helped  li 


AN   ACCOUNT   OF   THE   WILD   MAN.  203 

"  An'  what  did  he  when  the  Indians  ran 
away  ?  "  inquired  March  Marston. 

"  Oh !  he  quietly  pulled  up  his  horse  and  let 
them  run.  After  they  were  gone,  he  continued 
his  journey,  as  slow  and  cool  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  Few  Indians  attack  him  now,  except 
new  bands  from  distant  parts  of  the  country,  who 
don't  know  him ;  but  all  who  meddle  with  him 
find,  to  their  cost,  that  it  would  have  been  better 
had  they  let  him  alone." 

"  Is  he  cruel  ?  Does  he  eat  men  and  childers  ?  " 
inquired  Bounce,  commencing  a  fourth  steak  with 
a  degree  of  violent  energy  that  suggested  the  pos- 
sibility of  his  being  himself  able  to  do  some 
execution  in  the  cannibal  line,  if  necessary. 

McLeod  laughed.  "  Oh,  dear,  no ;  he's  not 
cruel.  Neither  does  he  eat  human  flesh.  In 
fact,  he  has  been  known  to  do  some  kind  acts 
to  poor  starving  Indians  when  they  least  expected 
it.  The  real  truth  is,  that  he  is  only  fierce  when 
he's  meddled  with.  He  never  takes  revenge,  and 
he  has  never  been  known  to  lift  a  scalp." 

"  But  what  like  is  he  when  he  comes  to  trade 
his  furs  at  the  fort  here  ?  how  does  he  speak,  and 
in  what  language  ? "  inquired  Marston,  who, 
although  delighted  with  the  account  given  of  the 
strength  and  valor  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West, 
was  by  no  means  pleased  to  learn  that  he  was  not 
an  absolute  giant,  something  like  the  -giant 
Despair  of  whom  he  had  read  in  the  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress." 


\U1,I>    M 


-  only    he's  a  tre- 

idous  big  one  —  six  feet  six,  if  he's  an  inch, 
and  >  of  the  biggest  o; 

mid  the  dhraldeni      Uut  he's 
;id  won't  1ft  any  one  question  hi: 

;  and  tin-  .-hort  of  it  j  is   a 

n  —  luckily  he's  a  well-dispo^ 
and  Mich  for  it  he  is  a  crack  hunter,  t  h« 

he   don't  bring  many  furs  to  trade.      I  think 

most  of  his   idle  time  in  mopiiiLT  among 

ihc  muiinta: 
"Docs  any  one  know  \\hcrc  he   lives?" 

;illy  becomin. 
in  ihis  strange  being. 

.  him, 

e  we  have  invar; 
M  o!'  him." 

March,  eagerly;   "you    h 

liiiiLT  al>. 

Mcl^-^d     PF8         :i. 

the 

ingfrom 

ran 

1  McLeod,  seizing  his  cap 
;    hurry  iim   out     M  These  art4 

\vho    ha  :        .      ii'l    1  .-ce 

fort-gate  N  .swim#  o, 

as  the  guesi  i  fnun  t'' 


RETURN  OF  A  HUNTING  PARTY.      205 

hunters  galloped  into  the  square  with  all  the  reck- 
less noise  and  dash  peculiar  to  that  class  of  men. 
Leaping  from  their  foaming  steeds,  they  were 
quickly  surrounded  by  their  comrades,  and  by  the 
women  and  children  of  the  place,  who  congratu- 
lated them  on  their  success  in  the  chase,  and  plied 
them  with  eager  questions. 

That  they  had  indeed  been  successful,  was 
evident  from  the  masses  of  fresh  meat  with 
which  the  horses  were  laden. 

"  Well  done,  Davis,"  said  McLeod,  stepping  up 
to  one  of  the  men,  who,  from  his  age  and  intelli- 
gence, had  been  put  in  command  of  the  hunting 
party.  "  You  are  back  sooner  than  I  anticipated. 
Surely,  your  good  genius  sent  the  buffalo  across 
your  path." 

"  We  have  bin  in  luck,  sir,"  replied  the  hunter, 
touching  his  cap.  "  We've  killed  more  than  we 
could  carry,  an',  what's  worse,  we've  killed  more 
than  we  wanted." 

«  How  so  ?  " 

"  We've  had  a  brush  wi'  the  redskins,  sir,  an 
we  had  to  kill  one  or  two  in  self-defence." 

McLeod' s  brow  darkened.  He  clenched  his 
teeth,  and  the  large  veins  swelled  in  his  neck  and 
forehead.  With  a  powerful  effort  he  repressed 
his  anger,  and  said,  — 

"  Did  I  not  warn  you  to  avoid  that  if  you 
could  ?  " 

"  True,  sir,"  replied  Davis,  humbly ;  "  but  we 

18 


206 

| 

irse, 

Leod, 

tun.  ;  ;i  t;iil    -1. 'UcliihLT  111:11;,  v. 

(liiiir  oast  of 

tkL 

ig  up 

it    your  : 

again,  you  scoundrel.    Ilali  '.  'ing 

of     tlir    \\  heir    I: 

.1,  and  on   ihr   li 

i  -calp  \K  liich 
!i  blood  a.-?  it  hun: 

to   you 

1    choose    to    li  ihr    so. 

llir      1)' 

talk 

to  lift    il 
!.  as    hr 
Oy  tli 

aid 

All  eyes 


MR.   MACGREGOR.  207 

and  the  crowd  fell  back  to  permit  Mr.  Macgregor, 
the  person  in  command  of  the  Mountain  Fort,  to 
approach  the  scene  of  action. 

The  man  who  now  appeared  on  the  scene  was 
a  sad  and  a  terrible  sight  to  behold.  He  was  one 
of  that  wretched  class  of  human  beings  who, 
having  run  a  long  course  of  unbridled  wickedness, 
become  total  wrecks  in  body  and  mind  long  before 
the  prime  of  manhood  has  been  passed.  Mac- 
gregor had  been  a  confirmed  drunkard  for  many 
years.  He  had  long  lost  all  power  of  self-control, 
and  had  now  reached  that  last  fearful  stage  when 
occasional  fits  of  delirium  tremens  rendered  him 
more  like  a  wild  beast  than  a  man.  Being  a  large 
and  powerful  man,  and  naturally  passionate,  he 
was  at  these  times  a  terror  to  all  who  came  near 
him.  He  had  been  many  years  in  charge  of  the 
fur-trading  establishment,  and  having  on  many 
occasions  maltreated  the  Indians,  he  was  hated 
by  them  most  cordially. 

One  of  his  mad  fits  had  been  on  him  for  some 
days  before  the  arrival  of  March  Marston  arid  his 
friends.  He  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  be  able 
to  stagger  out  of  his  room  just  at  the  time  the 
buffalo-hunters,  as  above  described,  entered  the 
square  of  the  fort.  As  he  strode  forward,  with 
nothing  on  but  his  shirt  and  trousers,  his  eyes 
bloodshot,  his  hair  matted  and  dishevelled,  and 
his  countenance  haggard  in  the  extreme,  he  was 
the  most  pitiable,  and,  at  the  same  time,  most 


208  THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 

trrr:  i  of  human  d<--. 

mind  of  1:1,111  ronld  .  of. 

M  \Yh  ::  now  :  who   has   bmi   lifting  sea! 

.(•('11   his  Srt 

.nl  glaring  in  ,  with  hi>  blood- 

shot •  --a  tiger. 

.Mchco.l  h«-ld  uj)  the  bloody  scalp. 
••  \Vho  did  it  .'  "  ro:ir»-d  Macgrei: 
••  I  did."  said  Larocque,  with  an  atrnnpt 
drfiunt  air. 

The  words  had  barely  passed  his  lips  \vh. 

i  a  blow  hrtwrrn  thr  «'y«  ilrd  liim 

to    tlir    rarth.       1 1<>    attn: 

LgC  than  tin-  wrathful 

•  •gregor  K  n  ai/ain. 

raiiL'h'  h 

.»ni  inlrr- 
fcriiiLr,  for  hr  was  not   >orry  to  II 

Pksi 

\  ith  tip-  Bfld 

•fully  as 


MCLEOD   AND   BERTRAM.  209 


CHAPTER    XII. 

An  Argument  on  Argumentation ;  also  on  Keligion. —  Bounce  '*  feelo- 
sophical "  again. —  A  Race  cut  short  by  a  Bullet. —  Flight  and  Pur- 
suit of  the  Redskins. 

WHEN  McLeod  returned  to  the  square,  he 
found  that  the  trappers  had  adjourned  with  the 
men  of  the  establishment  to  enjoy  a  social  pipe 
together,  and  that  Theodore  Bertram  was  taking 
a  solitary,  meditative  promenade  in  front  of  the 
gate  of  the  fort. 

"  You  seem  in  a  pensive  mood,  Mr.  Bertram," 
said  the  fur-trader  on  coming  up,  "  will  you  not 
try  the  soothing  effects  of  a  pipe  ?  Our  tobacco 
is  good ;  I  can  recommend  it." 

He  offered  a  plug  of  tobacco  to  the  artist  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Thank  you,  I  do  not  smoke,"  said  Bertram, 
declining  the  proffered  luxury.  "  Tobacco  may 
be  good — though  I  know  it  not  from  experience. 
Yet,  methinks,  the  man  is  wiser  who  does  not 
cieate  an  unnatural  taste,  than  he  who  does  so 
for  the  purpose  of  gratifying  it." 

"  Ah !  you  are  a  philosopher." 

"  If  judging  of  things  and  questions  simply  on 

18* 


WILI>    >l.\ 

I  1   with   thr   single'  object  of 

i  j'liilo.-. 
u  Don't  you  i  n  \vho  j>! 

as    he    ] 
"An<l   <l»>n't    you    think  the  charge  i-  j 

te  are  ofirn    much  n 
serving  of  t 
sense  of 

ledge  and  i 

Ige, 

. 


BOUNCE,  BERTRAND,  AND  MCLEOD  ARGUE.    211 

Thinking  out  a  subject  in  a  calm,  dispassionate, 
logical  manner,  from  its  first  proposition  to  its 
legitimate  conclusion,  is  laborious  to  all.  A  very 
large  class  of  men  and  women  have  no  patience 
for  such  a  process  of  investigation — hence  argu- 
mentation, that  most  noble  of  all  mental  exercises, 
is  deemed  a  nuisance.  Certainly  argumentation 
with  unphilosophical  persons  is  a  nuisance  ;  but 
I  know  of  few  earthly  enjoyments  more  gratify- 
ing than  an  argument  with  a  true  philosopher." 

"  That's  wot  I  says,  so  I  do,  out-an'-out,"  ob- 
served Bounce,  who  had  come  up  unperceived, 
and  had  overheard  the  greater  part  of  the  above 
remarks.  "  Jist  wot  I  thinks  myself,  Mr.  Ber- 
tram, only  I  couldn't  'xactly  put  it  in  the  same 
way,  d'ye  see.  That's  wot  I  calls  out-an'-out 
feelosophy." 

"  Glad  to  hear  you're  such  a  wise  fellow,"  said 
McLeod,  patronizingly.  "  So  you  agree,  of 
course,  with  Mr.  Bertram  in  condemning  the 
use  of  the  pipe." 

"  Condemn  the  pipe  ?  "  said  Bounce,  pulling 
out  his  own  special  favorite  and  beginning  to  fill 
it,  —  "  wot,  condemn  smokin'  ?  No,  by  no  means 
wotsomdiver.  That's  quite  another  keewestion, 
wot  we  haint  bin  a  disputin'  about.  I  only 
heered  Mr.  Bertram  a-talkin'  about  obst'nitness 
an'  argementation." 

"  Well,  in  regard  to  that,"  said  Bertram,  "  I 
firmly  believe  that  men  and  women  are  all  alike 
eqiially  obstinate." 


THE   WILD   MAN  OF  TBB  WEST. 

<1   Bounce,  with  ne  of 

mil;.  .inty  ami 

\vh  illingness  to  commit  i 

;o  a  in  ing  prop 

"  On  what  grounds  do  you  think  so 
McL 

••  Why  »MI  the  Dimple  ground  that  a  : 
•;^.-   ;inv  opinion    until    he  is  c<> 
tlniT  it  is  \\TOMI:,  ami  tliat  hr  inrvi'al.ly  imM.aml 
•:ally  (K»cs.  change  his  o} 
is  so  convin 

ill,  but  ;on  of  his  mind. 

are  of  such  a  nature  —  i 

md  weak  gr  

«>t  be  en 

are  so  !>•  Mnt  they  readily  sei/e  upon  I. 

\\  IP 

inii: 
adin 

M  to  th.-ir  at 
.    that    tli- 

plied 
thai 

\vould  n 


THE   ARGUMENT   INTERRUPTED  213 

"there  is  plenty  of  it,  but  obstinacy  does  not 
consist  in  the  simple  act  of  holding  one's  opinion 
firmly." 

"  "Wot  does  it  consist  of,  then  ?  " 

"  In  this  :  —  in  holding  firmly  to  opinions  that 
have  been  taken  hastily  up,  without  the  grounds 
on  which  they  are  founded  having  been  duly 
weighed;  and  in  refusing  to  consider  these 
grounds  in  a  philosophical  (which  means  a 
rational)  way,  because  the  process  would  prove 
tiresome.  The  man  who  has  comfortably  settled 
all  his  opinions  in  this  way,  very  much  resembles 
that '  fool '  of  whom  it  is  written  that  he  '  is  wiser 
in  his  own  conceit  than  seven  men  who  can  render 
a  reason?  " 

"  Well,  but,  to  come  back  to  the  starting- 
point,"  said  McLeod,  "  many  wise  men  smoke." 

"  If  you  say  that  in  the  way  of  argument,  I 
meet  it  with  the  counter  proposition,  that  many 
wise  men  don't  smoke." 

"  Hah  !  "  ejaculated  Bounce,  but  whether 
Bounce's  ejaculation  was  one  of  approval  or 
disapproval  we  cannot  tell.  Neither  can  we  tell 
what  conclusion  these  philosophers  came  to  in 
regard  to  smoking,  because,  just  then,  two  horse- 
men were  seen  approaching  the  fort  at  full  speed. 

Seeing  that  they  were  alone,  McLeod  took  no 
precautions  to  prevent  surprise.  He  knew  well 
enough  that  Indians  frequently  approach  in  this 
manner,  so  waited  in  front  of  the  gate,  coolly 


1)   MAN   OF  THE   V 

.mil  thr  savages 
him.      IT 

11,  hut   ji 

to  v  N  of  him,  tli 

•h'-ir   l"f! 

ground,   the    Indians —  who 
pie   of  strong,  fine-locking   savages, 

mm  (juill   \\  i    M-;I!|)- 

!•<!   ami  B] 

;iguage,  and  iinn 
horsrs  ; 

iiiin 

-full   gallop  —  v 
red. 

ammunition  to  hunt 


AN   ARGUMENT   ON   RELIGION  215 

blood  seems  to  be  the  universal  cry  here,  and, 
now  that  we've  had  so  many  quarrels  with  the 
redskins,  I  fear  that  the  day  is  not  far  distant 
when  blood  will  flow  even  in  the  Mountain  Fort. 
I  see  no  prospect  for  a  better  state  of  things,  for 
savage  nature  cannot  be  changed.  It  seems  a 
hopeless  case." 

"  There  was  a  touch  of  pathos  in  the  tone  in 
which  this  was  said  that  was  very  different  from 
McLeod's  usual  bold  and  reckless  manner.  It 
was  evident  that  his  natural  disposition  was 
kind,  hearty,  and  peaceable ;  but  that  the  con- 
stant feuds  in  which  he  was  involved,  both  in  the 
fort  and  out  of  it,  had  soured  his  temper  and 
rendered  him  wellnigh  desperate. 

"  You  are  wrong,  sir,  in  saying  that  their  case 
is  hopeless,"  said  Bertram,  earneslfy.  "  There  is 
a  remedy." 

"  I  wish  you  could  show  it  me,"  replied  the 
trader. 

"  Here  it  is,"  returned  the  artist,  taking  his 
little  Testament  from  the  inside  pocket  of  his 
hunting-shirt.  "  The  gospel  is  able  to  make  all 
men  wise  unto  salvation." 

McLeod  shook  his  head,  and  said,  "  It  won't 
do  here.  To  be  plain  with  you,  sir,  I  don't  be- 
lieve the  gospel's  of  any  use  in  these  wild  regions, 
where  murder  seems  to  be  as  natural  to  man, 
woman,  and  child  as  food." 

"  But,  sir,"  rejoined  Bertram,  "  you  forget  that 


WJl.h    M 

our  h .in-- -If  says  that  he  came  not  to 

repentant  •«-.        In 

\olume  we  are  told  th:ii  the  bkx 

!i  us  from  al          ,       .<!,  not  only  : 
\\\<    as.Miranee    th;it    none  who  come    unto    him 
it   \ve  have  examples  in  ;il 
kfl   of  the   known   world   of  men   and   \\omen 
\vh"  *   steeped    to    the   lips   in   » 

ving  becMi   turned  to 
•  »f  God  through   faith   in    Chri.-t.  and 
tie    I  Inly    Spirit,  \\  h. 

u  It    may   be   8O,V    r«  turned  Mrl,n»d;   "I    havi? 

these  things  much.      1  d 

to  1)  ijious  man,  and  I  eannoi   pretmd 

much  of  what  the  gospel  hi 

wh«Tr  ;    hut     1    f-  -ure    th  do 

do  not  believe  the   Bible,  which 
!y   that    this  'go-  r  of 

•    •  th.1 '' 

"  Ay,    but    t;  I     Indian-     . 

•-adcr. 

I  it  is  to 

he  h. 

>'ll  never  ask 

:  them 


MACGREGOR   MEETS   THE   TRAPPERS.  217 

a  trial?  Did  you  ever  preach  the  gospel  to 
them  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  did  that." 

"  Then  you  cannot  tell  how  they  would  treat  it. 
Your  remarks  are  mere  assertions  of  opinion — not 
arguments.  You  know  the  wickedness  of  the 
Indians,  and  can,  therefore,  speak  authoritatively 
orj  that  point ;  but  you  know  not  (according  to 
your  own  admission),  the  power  of  the  gospel; 
therefore  you  are  not  in  a  position  to  speak  on 
that  point." 

McLeod  was  about  to  reply,  when  he  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  approach  of  Mr.  Macgregor,  who 
had  now  recovered  somewhat  from  the  effects  of 
his  violent  fit  of  passion.  Having  observed  during 
the  melee  that  strangers  had  arrived  at  his  fort, 
he  had  washed  and  converted  himself  into  a  more 
presentable  personage,  and  now  came  forward  to 
the  group  of  trappers,  all  of  whom  had  assembled 
at  the  gate.  Addressing  them  in  a  tone  of  affable 
hospitality  he  said,  — 

"  Good  day,  friends  ;  I'm  glad  to  see  you  at  the 
Mountain  Fort.  That  blackguard  Larocque 
somewhat  ruffled  my  temper.  He's  been  the 
cause  of  much  mischief  here,  I  assure  you.  Do 
you  intend  to  trap  in  these  parts  ?  " 

The  latter  part  of  this  speech  was  addressed  to 
Redhand,  who  replied,  — 

"  We  do  mean  to  try  our  luck  in  these  parts, 
but  we  han't  yet  made  up  our  minds  exactly 

19 


218 

\\  !l«'!r    to  gO.        IM  I  oifli   jji 

\\'li;  ;hr  t'iir-i 

\\  ith  an  rariirst  \<-;  half 

> ere,  as  if  hr  \\islinl  to  imprr-s   ihrir 
ires  mi  his  memory. 
tt  Acl\i(M-,"  h 

<-e  I've  got  to  give  ye  ;  and  i  -go 

•_ro  10  xvlicrc  you 

iiainiiirr  —  1«>  any  thing  you  1. 

keepsyouoii  '     Rfaegpegor  paused  ft 

inoiii-  lit    as  it'  hf  v.rrc    aln)i,' 

then 

"  I  griefs,  ill-   -. 

t)l'l    ! 

•  \\  e   beant 

!     the 

. 

!ir<l    for    :i    i  n    lie 

<1,  — 
(•Ik    frit-i' 


A    RACE.  219 

and  fighting,  if  you're  fond  of  that.  What  say 
you  now,  lad,"  turning  to  March,  "  to  remain 
with  us  here  at  the  Mountain  Fort?  I've  ta'en 
a  sort  of  fancy  to  your  face.  We  want  young 
bloods  here.  I'll  give  you  a  good  wage  and  plenty 
to  do." 

"  Th-inks  ;  you  are  kind,"  replied  March, 
sijiiling,  "  but  I  love  freedom  too  well  to  part 
with  it  yet  awhile." 

"  Mais,  monsieur,"  cried  Gibault,  pushing  for- 
ward, pulling  off  his  cap,  and  making  a  low  bow ; 
u  if  you  vants  yonger  blod,  an'  also  ver'  goot 
blod,  here  am  von  ! '' 

The  trader  laughed,  and  was  about  to  reply, 
when  a  sudden  burst  of  laughter  and  the  sound 
of  noisy  voices  in  the  yard  interrupted  him.  Pres- 
ently two  of  the  men  belonging  to  the  establish- 
ment cantered  out  of  the  square,  followed  by 
all  the  men,  women,  and  children  of  the  place, 
amounting  probably  to  between  twenty  and  thirty 
souls.  "  A  race !  a  race !  "  shouted  the  foremost. 

"  Hallo !  Dupont,  what's  to  do  ?  "  inquired 
M&Leod,  as  the  two  horsemen  came  up. 

"  Please,  monsieur,  Lincoln  have  bet  me  von 
gun  dat  hims  horse  go  more"  queek  dan  mine,  — 
so  we  try." 

"  Yes,  so  we  shall,  I  guess,"  added  the  man 
named  Lincoln,  whose  speech  told  that  he  was  a 
Yankee. 

44  Go   it   stranger ;    I   calc'late    you'll  do   him 


TI!  MAN   OF 


<>art 

,  !    noii.      (io    home  ;    pu:    your    hor 

pft     «  Dis  is  de  von  as  vill  <; 
u  \\Yll.  well:  <l«;ir  the  course;  we  shall  soon 

MrljCOd.        " 

o  —  aw;i 

rrf  whip-  .  :md 

ifd    at   a    furiou.-   i:;ill«>p. 
good  spirited  animals, 

be 
age.     Ti 

'  Tt  \vas  a 
iliful   strt'trh  of  l»'\rl    in- 

I  the  gates. 

\\  hcrr  r  .'iin<l    in 

. 
. 

original 

• 

Dii|  \\T  h:i\ti 

ILK!  cleared 

r.tl>l\    in    :id\ 

to  ti 


A   MURDER   AND    ITS   PUNISHMENT.  221 

with  whom  he  was  a  favorite.  On  gaining  the 
loop  above  referred  to,  and  making  the  graceful 
sweep  round  it,  which  brought  the  foremost  rider 
into  full  side  view,  the  distance  between  them 
became  more  apparent,  and  a  cheer  arose  from 
the  people  near  the  fort-gate. 

At  that  moment  a  puff  of  smoke  issued  from 
the  bushes.  Dupont  tossed  his  arms  in  the  air, 
uttered  a  sharp  cry,  and  fell  headlong  to  the 
ground.  At  the  same  instant  a  band  of  Indians 
sprang  from  the  underwood,  with  an  exulting 
yell.  Lincoln  succeeded  in  checking  and  turning 
his  horse  before  they  caught  his  bridle,  but  an 
arrow  pierced  his  shoulder  ere  he  had  galloped 
out  of  reach  of  his  enemies. 

The  instant  Dupont  fell,  a  savage  leaped  upon 
him,  and  plunged  his  knife  into  his  heart.  Then, 
passing  the  sharp  weapon  quickly  round  his  head 
with  his  right  hand,  with  the  left  he  tore  the 
scalp  off,  and,  leaping  up,  shook  the  bloody 
trophy  defiantly  at  the  horrified  spectators. 

All  this  was  accomplished  so  quickly  that  the 
horror-stricken  people  of  the  Mountain  Fort  had 
not  time  to  move  a  finger  to  save  their  comrade. 
But,  as  the  savage  raised  the  scalp  of  poor 
Dupont  above  his  head,  Redhand's  rifle  flew  to 
his  shoulder,  and  in  another  moment  the  Indian 
fell  to  the  earth  beside  his  victim.  Seeing  this, 
the  other  Indians  darted  into  the  forest. 

Then  a  fearful  imprecation  burst  from  the  lips 


of    M 

o  horsr,  men !  and  see  thai  your  li 

:ld    ball  !  '• 

The 

:m<l  n  hither  and    tlii 

•!!id    Badd  ir   \\or^     : 

;>oor  Dii]  -    inini:! 

hrn    tl  all    a> 

h;n 

'  ihr 

r    the  BS 

aii-i 


BERTRAM   JOINS   IN   THE   PURSUIT.  223 

"  Git  on,  lads ;  I'll  look  arter  him,"  said 
Bounce,  with  a  grin,  catching  up  the  bridle  of 
the  artist's  horse. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  remainder 
of  the  party  turned,  and  galloped  after  Mac- 
gregor,  who,  with  the  most  of  his  own  men,  had 
already  wellnigh  gained  the  edge  of  the  forest. 

In  a  few  seconds  Bertram  rushed  wildly  out  of 
the  fort,  with  the  sketch-book  in  one  hand  and 
the  two  blunderbuss-pistols  in  the  other.  In 
leaping  on  his  horse,  he  dropped  the  latter ;  but 
Bounce  picked  them  up,  and  stuck  them  hastily 
into  his  own  belt. 

"  Now  put  that  book  into  its  own  pouch,  or 
ye'll  be  fit  for  nothin',"  said  Bounce,  almost 
sternly. 

Bertram  obeyed,  and  grasped  the  rifle  which 
his  friend  placed  in  his  hand.  Then  Bounce 
vaulted  into  his  saddle,  and,  ere  those  who  were 
left  behind  had  drawn  the  bolts  and  let  down  the 
ponderous  bars  of  the  gate  of  the  Mountain 
Fort,  the  two  horsemen  were  flying  at  full  speed 
over  the  plain  in  the  track  of  the  avengers  of 
blood  who  had  gone  before  them. 


CHAPTER    XII  I. 

I  of  the   Artist. 

.it  Pass.  — March 

Coolne*8  ai  .mger. —  A 

slaufc 

CROSSING    the  open   groiuul    in  of   the 

M  Bertram 

nd  traversed 

ease,  by  means  of  a,  bri  which  h 

cut   tin 
gall<  -hi    th<  i 

h  was  one  of  those   i 

C'llli. 

th;i'  ictnrcstluc    region    \\hrrr    th. 

:in<i  tin- 

level —  at   least,  sui; 
around    tht-m. 

turf  at  1 

low  hill  or  ridge  that  in; 

more 


BERTRAM'S  SCRUPLES.  225 

"  They'll  have  to  draw  in  a  bit,"  said  Bounce, 
turning  to  his  comrade.  "  Horses  no  more  nor 
men  can't  go  helter-skelter  up  a  hill  without 
takin'  breath ;  so  rouse  up  your  beast,  Mr.  Ber- 
tram, an'  we'll  overtake  'em  afore  they  gits  to  the 
tother  side." 

Bertram  obeyed  his  friend's  command,  but 
made  no  rejoinder,  his  thoughts  being  too  deeply 
engaged  at  that  moment  in  a  controversy  with 
his  conscience  as  to  the  propriety  of  the  business 
he  had  then  in  hand. 

The  young  artist  had  a  deep  veneration  for 
abstract  truth — truth  pure  and  simple,  not  only 
in  reference  to  morals,  but  to  all  things  terrestrial 
and  celestial ;  and  he  was  deeply  impressed  with 
the  belief,  that  what  was  right  —  was  right,  and 
what  was  wrong  —  was  wrong,  and  could  not, 
by  any  possibility,  be  otherwise.  He  felt,  also, 
that  the  man  who  recognized  truth,  and  acted 
upon  it,  must  go  right,  and  he  who  saw  and  did 
otherwise  must  go  wrong ! 

Holding  this  simple  creed  very  tenaciously,  and, 
as  we  think,  very  properly,  Bertram  nevertheless 
found  that  his  attempts  to  act  up  to  it  frequently 
involved  him  in  a  maze  of  perplexities. 

On  the  present  occasion,  as  he  and  Bounce 
thundered  over  the  green  turf  of  the  flower- 
ing plains,  scattering  the  terrified  grasshoppers 
right  and  left,  and  causing  the  beautifully-striped 
ground-squirrels  to  plunge  with  astonishing  pre- 


iiniM'lf, 

- 

. 
a  ii : 

. 
wa-  -t    of  ili 

lull 


the 
r  liad  alreacl .  1,  so 

. 

<1  —  might  possi! 
so 

rers  to  I 

•  savage  \  :<<•<!  and 

savage  v 


MACGREGOR'S  PLANS.  227 

question  as  to  whether  there  might  or  might  not 
be  a  murderer  among  the  Indians,  and  returned 
to  the  original  proposition,  as  to  whether  it  was 
right  in  him  to  take  part  in  a  pursuit  of  ven- 
geance that  would  very  likely  terminate  murder- 
ously. But  before  he  could  come  to  any  satis- 
factory conclusion  on  that  point,  he  and  Bounce 
found  themselves  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  the 
cavalcade,  which  had  halted  on  the  summit  of 
the  ridge,  in  order  to  allow  them  to  come  up. 

"  Here  we  are,  lads,"  cried  Macgregor,  his 
flushed  face  still  blazing  with  wrath,  which  he 
made  no  effort  to  subdue,  and  his  eyes  red  with 
prolonged  debauchery,  flashing  like  the  eyes  of  a 
tiger,  —  "  here  we  are,  too  late  to  cut  off  the  re- 
treat o'  these  detestable  reptiles  from  the  woods, 
but  not  too  late  to  circumvent  them." 

The  fur-trader  spoke  rapidly,  almost  breath- 
lessly, and  pointed  to  the  band  of  Indians  they 
were  in  pursuit  of,  who,  observing  that  their  pm> 
suers  had  halted,  also  drew  rein  on  the  edge  of 
a  belt  of  thick  forest  that  extended  for  miles  into 
the  mountains.  They  appeared  to  wait,  in  order 
to  ascertain  what  their  enemies  meant  to  do. 

u  The  villains,"  continued  Macgregor,  "  think 
we've  given  up  pursuit  as  hopeless,  but  they're 
mistaken  —  they're  mistaken,  as  they'll  find  to 
their  cost.  Now,  mark  rne,  men;  we  shall  turn 
back  as  if  we  had  really  given  in ;  but  the  mo- 
ment we  get  down  into  the  hollow,  out  of  sight, 


th<  -mid   f>\  ce  we  call  the  Wild- 

lit  who  ran- 

'mrr 

is  right  in   ti 

:>y  ihrir  dress;  and  B 
o'  the  country,  1! 
of   rhr  pass.     But  some  of  us  n 

.  who'll  be  sure  to  get 
y  can  to  see  \\  h«-n-  we've  gone  to.     > 

—  away!      Stay/'  In-  addrd,  in    a    lr»  runmi:«inl- 
dnn't    k  J   guests  a 

iih  us   thron  an'  thin    in 

unuilli' 

riors." 

••   '  nd, 

•  so  goo<: 
that  vftUey, 

0   -him  izoiii«r   hai-K    to    : 

ihr  |K^.- 

To  i  and  his 

to   the  j' 

en  of  the  A 


A   STRATEGIC   MOVEMENT.  229 

triumphant  shout  from  the  Indians  showed  i 
they  imagined  the  pursuit  was  given  up;  bur. 
Macgregor  knew  their  cunning  too  well  to  fall 
into  the  mistake  of  at  once  concluding  that  they 
were  thoroughly  deceived.  He  knew  that  they 
would  send  out  scouts  to  dog  them,  and  felt,  that 
if  his  plan  was  to  succeed,  he  must  put  it  into 
execution  promptly. 

"  I've  scarce  had  time  to  ask  your  names  or 
where  you've  come  from,"  he  said,  on  parting 
from  the  trappers  ;  "  but  there'll  be  plenty  of  time 
for  that  when  we  meet  again.  Keep  close  in  the 
bottom,  and  ride  fast,  till  the  shadow  of  yonder 
crag  conceals  you  from  view.  If  the  Indians  get 
sight  of  you,  they'll  smell  the  dodge  at  once  and 
escape  us.  Perhaps,  young  man,  you'd  like  to 
come  with  my  party  ?  " 

The  latter  part  of  this  speech  was  made  rather 
abruptly  to  March  Marston,  who  received  it  with 
some  surprise,  and  with  a  distinct  refusal. 

"  I'll  stick  by  my  comrades,"  said  he,  "  till  I 
see  good  reason " 

"  Well,  well,  boy  —  please  yourself! "  muttered 
the  trader  angrily,  as  he  broke  away  at  full  speed, 
followed  by  his  men. 

Our  trappers  instantly  turned  their  horses' 
heads  toward  the  mountains,  and  made  for  the 
Wild-cat  Pass. 

Macgregor's  estimate  of  the  cunning  of  the 
Indians  was  but  too  correct.  The  instant  the 

20 


• 

of  their 
to    the 
eh  the  D 

which   commanded 
oundiiii;  .  and    iii 

,ii{  swifi 
lion   of  the    i'uri.      I 

u.-h  of  Ucrtra 
.   behind  the  crai:  \\  hii'h   : 
he  rc>t  c 

is  disco. 

:i    them   and    tlir 

ll    they    | 
lhr\ 

of  the  country,  I 

«'t  throi.  .ss  of  BOI:  in- 

lllClll,     ::  ;>U88 

iiius?    lie  at 

bottle-brush    had    vani^lied.  the\    | 

cecd  to  the   >aiue  spot    : 


scp  ie  hill  from  the  crag  or  rocky  ridge 

before  referred  to. 

Promptitude  they  knew  to  be  every  thing,  so 
they  swept  up  the  gorge  like  a  whirlwind. 
Thus  both  parties  drew  nearer  to  the  chaotic 
opening  styled  the  Wild-cat  Pass,  —  the  trap- 
s,  all  ignorant  of  what  awaited  them  there ; 
the  savages,  bent  on  giving  their  enemies  an 
unpleasant  surprise. 

But,  unknown  to  either,  there  was  a  pair  of 
eyes  high  on  a  rock  above  the  Wild-cat  Pass, — 
that  overlooked  the  two  valleys  or  ravines,  and 
gazed  with  considerable  interest  and  curiosity  oil 
the  two  advancing  parties.  Those  eyes  belonged 
to  a  solitary  horseman,  who  stood  on  the  edge  of 
the  wild  precipice  that  overhung  the  pass.  The 
hunter,  for  such  his  leathern  dress  bespoke  him, 
stood  beside  his  horse,  his  right  arm  over 
arched  neck,  and  his  right  hand  patting  its  sleek 
shoulder.  From  the  position  which  he  occupied 
he  could  see  without  being  seen.  His  magnifi- 
cent steed  seemed  to  be  aware  that  danger  was 
at  hand,  for  it  stood  like  a  statue,  absolutely 
motionless.  with  the  exception  of  its  fine  fiery 
eyes.  Whatever  this  solitary  hunter's  thoughts 
regarding  the  two  approaching  parties  might  be, 
it  was  evident  i hat  he  meant  to  remain  an  invis- 
ible spectator  of  their  doings  ;  for  he  stood  in  the 
same  attitude  of  statue-like  attention  until  they 
reached  the  heads  of  the  two  ravines,  where  they 


WILD    M 

i'roin  each  ol  her  . 
Here,  on  the  one  side,  the  li 
number,   lay    in    anibii.-h   am 

<-(\   to   -urprisr    anil   attack  lii 
thry  ^lould  pass.     On  the 

Micir 

horses  to  graze,  while  they 
of  ?>1  ad  his  pa 

"  Tl  r   be   long   ( 

iliand,    seali. 

. 
'he    inaii     tO    Wmste    time    \vh 

e  redskins.     I  only  hope  h 
he  gets 

"  So 
"Redhain 

sofa  scalping-lci 
"  A 

. 

is   i: 

Big 

"  Tin   oil'  to 


THE    WILD-CAT   PAriS.  •    233 

Marston,  vaulting  suddenly  into  the  saddle. 
"  Come,  Bertram ;  you'll  go  with  me,  won't 
you,  and  see  if  we  can  find  some  wild  cats  in 
it?" 

The  artist,  who  had  not  dismounted,  merely  re- 
plied by  a  nod  and  a  smile,  and  the  two  reckless 
youths  galloped  away,  heedless  of  Bounce's  warn- 
ing not  to  go  too  far,  for  fear  they  should  find 
something  worse  than  wild  cats  there. 

The  Wild-cat  Pass,  through  which  they  were 
speedily  picking  Iheir  steps,  in  order  to  get  a 
view  of  the  country  beyond,  was  not  inappro- 
priately named  ;  for  it  seemed  at  the  first  glance 
of  those  who  entered  it,  as  if  no  creature  less 
savagely  reckless  than  a  wild  cat  could,  by  any 
possibility,  scramble  through  it  without  the  aid 
of  wings. 

The  greater  part  of  it  was  the  ancient  bed  of 
a  mountain  torrent,  whose  gushing  waters  had, 
owing  to  some  antediluvian  convulsion  of  nature, 
been  diverted  into  another  channel.  The  whole 
scene  was  an  absolute  chaos  of  rocks  which  had 
fallen  into  the  torrent's  bed  from  the  precipice 
that  hemmed  it  in  on  the  west,  and  these  rocky 
masses  lay  heaped  about  in  such  a  confused  way, 
that  it  was  extremely  difficult  to  select  a  pathway 
along  which  the  horses  could  proceed  without 
running  great  risk  of  breaking  their  limbs.  The 
entire  length  of  the  pass  could  not  have  been 
much  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  yet  it  took 

20* 


Till-:    WILD    MAN    OF    Ti 

.ion  full  li:tl 
it. 
11  ;il)0ti!  half  throuirli 

;  \vhich  he  could  survey  ' 

ihr    iniiUt  of  \\ 

"  Upon    11  .   "Bertram,"   ! 

ud,  "if   !  ii   in   ih« 

h  :i 
1 
"  I  know  no 

r  he  has  be< 

i  irroiincl    in 

, 

on;  ] 

the 

It 
in   a  half  j« 


BERTRAM   AND   MARCH   IN   THE   PASS.         235 

in  reality  much  delighted  with  the  singularity  of 
this  extemporized  and  interesting  ramble. 

"  I  say,  Bertram,  don't  you  like  this  sort  o' 
thing?"  inquired  March,  looking  back  at  his 
companion,  on  reaching  a  somewhat  level  part 
of  the  pass. 

"Like  it?  Ay,  that  do  I.  I  love  it,  March. 
There  is  a  freedom,  a  species  of  wild  romance  about 
it,  that  is  more  captivating  than  I  can  describe." 

"  You  don't  need  to  describe  it,"  returned 
March,"  I  have  it  all  described  splendidly  within 
me.  One  don't  want  words  when  one's  got 
feelins.  But  I've  often  thought  what  a  pity  it  is 
that  we  can't  describe  things  or  places  at  all  with 
words.  At  least,  I  cant,"  he  added  modestly. 
"  When  I  try  to  tell  a  fellow  what  I've  seen,  it 
ain't  o'  no  manner  of  use  to  try,  for  I  don't  get 
hold  of  the  right  words  at  the  right  time,  and  so 
don't  give  out  the  right  meanin',  and  so  the  fellow 
I'm  speakin'  to  don't  take  up  the  right  notion, 
d'ye  see  ?  It's  a  great  pity  that  words  are  such 
useless  things." 

"  Why,  that  was  spoken  like  Bounce  himself," 
said  Bertram,  smiling. 

u  Look  out,  or  you'll  go  bounce  into  that  hole, 
if  you  don't  have  a  care,"  cried  March,  turning 
aside  to  avoid  the  danger  referred  to.  They  pro- 
ceeded through  the  remainder  of  the  pass  in 
silence,  as  the  rugged  nature  of  the  ground  re  • 
quired  then*  undivided  attention. 


236  THE    WILD    M 

there  been  a  sprite    in  who 

could  bave  1  M  some  el 

•!e,  or  have  soared  on  go  ;h<- 

<o  as  to  take  in  a  bird's  eve  view 

mild  h:i  liile    Mi: 

through    the    pa-s,    h> 

A  cf  d(  rn. 

\\'i  h  slo^  eu 

his  (juifT  :in:i  d  -e  deeper  iir 

and  when    lie    had    Lr«'t  BO  deep  in;o  the  e 

. 

ay. 

this 

!   out  upon 

9     line    view   of 

. 

of  the  Rod 

th'- 

moi 

ground.  ;:ieh 

the  t.jM-ninir  Ou1  o;  .      On 


A    STARTLING   DISCOVERY.  237 

the  fourth  side  it  was  skirted  by  a  dense  thicket 
of  bushes  that  formed  the  entrance  to  a  magnifi- 
cent forest  which  extended  for  several  miles  in 
front  of  the  spot.  Beyond  this  forest  the  scene 
was  broken  by  hills  and  valleys,  and  little  plains, 
richly  diversified  with  wood  and  water  —  the  for- 
mer in  dense  masses,  scattered  groups  and  isolated 
clusters ;  the  latter  shining  in  the  forms  of 
lakelet  and  stream,  or  glancing  snow-white  in 
numberless  cascades.  Beyond  all,  the  dark  blue 
giant  masses  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  towered  up 
and  up,  hill  upon  hill,  pile  upon  pile,  mass  on 
mass,  till  they  terminated  in  distant  peaks,  so 
little  darker  than  the  sky  that  they  seemed 
scarcely  more  solid  than  the  clouds  with  which 
they  mingled  and  blended  their  everlasting 
snows. 

"  An't  it  beautiful  ?  "  cried  March,  riding  for- 
ward with  a  bounding  sensation  of  inexpressible 
d(  'light. 

Bertram  followed  him,  but  did  not  answer.  He 
was  too  deeply  absorbed  in  the  simple  act  of  in- 
tently gazing  and  drinking  in  the  scene  to  listen 
or  to  reply. 

At  the  precise  moment  in  which  March  made 
the  above  remark,  his  quick  eye  observed  a  spear- 
head which  one  of  the  savages,  hid  among  the 
bushes  there,  had  not  taken  sufficient  pains  to 
conceal. 

March  Marston  was  a  young  hunter,  and,  as 


238 

,  by 

' 

h:nl 

nt ml  were  very  L 

•  •liirht  in 

j]ut  M  -  first  se\ 

in  1! 

.1    hr    |>:i- 

. 

Th;; 

linlian  j»rnl):iMy 
former;   th;f. 

:  and   ihiit.  i 

tllr  Hid 

JjU«- 

and  tij.i 

del,.  t-llort    h«-   I- 


COOLNESS   OF   MARCH.  239 

and  exclamation  of  surprise.  That  WJLS  the  mo- 
ment of  danger  past.  To  continue  his  praise  of 
the  lovely  scene  in  gay  delighted  tones  was  com- 
paratively easy. 

"  Isn't  it  beautiful  ?  "  he  said,  turning  his  face 
fully  toward  the  ambushed  savages,  gazing  over 
their  place  of  concealment  with  an  unconscious 
joyous  air,  and  sweeping  his  hand  toward  the 
mountains,  as  if  to  draw  the  attention  of  his  com- 
panion to  them.  March's  only  weapon  at  that 
moment  was  the  small  hatchet  he  was  wont  to 
carry  in  his  girdle.  This  implement  chanced  to 
be  in  his  hand.  Placing  it  carelessly  in  his  belt, 
as  though  nothing  was  further  from  his  mind 
than  the  idea  of  requiring  to  use  it  at  that  time, 
he  cried, — 

"  See,  yonder  is  a  mound  from  which  we  may 
get  a  better  view,"  and  trotted  to  the  summit  of 
the  spot  alluded  to.  In  doing  so  he  placed  him- 
self still  nearer  to  the  Indians.  This  was  a  bold 
stroke,  though  a  dangerous  one,  meant  to  deceive 
the  enemy.  After  gazing  a  few  seconds  from  this 
spot,  he  wheeled  round  and  walked  his  horse 
quietly  toward  the  entrance  to  the  pass.  Arrived 
there,  he  turned,  and  pretending  that  he  saw 
something  in  the  far  distance,  he  shaded  his  eyes 
with  his  hand  and  gazed  for  a  short  time  intently, 
then  calling  to  Bertram,  who  still  remained  in  his 
original  position  all  unconscious  of  his  danger 
said :  — 


"  I  sa\ .  ;    look  I'M  | 

,1^, Well  Worth    Srrilirr;     ami 

t  cwriaut 

re  to  see  it  at  all." 

lie  first  i> 

rh  was  unhrcdrd ;   but    the  r« 
liirlit"    had   the    desir»'(i 
. 
Bertram  into  such  a  p<- 

i    partially    s< 
hemadethefoll< 

ling  to  end,  in   the  <_r 

h'-n-  an 

•tM   in 

\\-\> !  |)o< 

i    it 
iinn'h  ,u-ut«-ii 


THE   ENCOUNTER.  241 

Scarcely  had  the  symptoms  of  alarm  been  ex- 
hibited, when  four  arrows  whizzed  through  the 
air  and  passed  close  to  the  persons  of  the  two 
friends,  who  instantly  turned  and  made  a  dash  for 
the  entrance  of  the  pass.  At  the  same  time  the 
savages  uttered  a  yell  and  darted  after  them. 

"  We'll  never  be  able  to  escape  by  the  pass," 
exclaimed  March,  looking  behind  him  hurriedly, 
as  they  approached  the  rocky  gorge,  "  and,  I  de- 
clare, there's  only  four  o'  them  on  foot.  Come, 
Bertram,  let's  make  a  bold  stroke  for  it.  We'll 
easy  break  through  'em." 

He  reined  up  so  suddenly  as  almost  to  throw 
the  horse  on  its  haunches,  and,  wheeling  round, 
darted  toward  the  savages.  Bertram  followed, 
almost  mechanically. 

The  Indians  offered  no  opposition,  but  at  that 
moment  another  yell  rose  from  the  bushes,  and 
about  thirty  mounted  Indians,  who  had  been  con- 
cealed behind  a  projecting  cliff,  sprang  forward 
and  closed  up  the  only  pi  ice  of  escape  with  a 
formidable  array  of  spears.  From  their  not  using 
their  arrows  it  was  evident  that  they  wished  to 
capture  the  white  men  alive,  for  the  purpose,  no 
doubt,  of  taking  them  home  to  their  wigwams, 
there  to  put  them  to  death  by  slow  torture  with 
the  assistance  of  their  squaws. 

March  Marston's  spirit  rose  with  the  occasion. 
He  uttered  a  furious  cry,  flourished  his  hatchet 
above  his  head,  and  dashed  at  full  gallop  toward 

21 


n    \VB8T. 

/mi.       1) 
. 

IK  ing    savage, 
. 

;ian.      Th«-   inis-i 

:iiin.      On   l-rholding 
\\  holr  body  of  savages  rushed  u, 

tCIL 

.vrrfnl     Imiian    sri/nl     March    ]>: 
1hr«  i  .     I'  >uld  use  his  i  tW 

fell    viol 
grci:  I  off  his  hon?r 

',  but  he  was  ii 
and  for 

-    a  .-I:.' 

' 

. 

an   Indian,  .nit 
Inu 


THE   WILD   MAN    COMES  TO   THE   RESCUE.      243 

swept  over  the  little  plain,  which  seemed  to 
tremble  beneath  his  heavy  tread,  the  wind  blew 
out  these  and  the  tags  and  scalplocks  of  his  coat 
and  leggings  as  well  as  his  own  beard  and  hair  in 
such  a  confused  and  commingled  way  as  to  make 
the  man  and  horse  appear  like  one  monstrous 
creature. 

The  Indians  turned  to  flee,  but,  seeing  only  one 
enemy,  they  hesitated.  In  another  moment  the 
wild  horseman  was  upon  them.  He  carried  a 
round  shield  on  his  left  arm  and  a  long  double- 
edged  sword  in  his  right  hand.  Two  Indians 
lowered  their  spears  to  receive  him.  The  point  of 
one  he  turned  aside  with  his  shield,  and  the  shock 
of  his  heavy  war-horse  hurled  horse  and  man 
upon  the  plain.  The  other  he  cut  the  iron  head 
off  with  a  swo^  of  his  sword,  and,  with  a  con- 
tinuation of  the '-same  cut,  he  cleft  his  opponent  to 
the  chin.  Turning  rapidly,  he  bounded  into  the 
very  midst  of  the  savages,  uttering  another  of  his 
tremendous  roars  of  indignation.  The  sudden- 
ness of  this  act  prevented  the  Indians  from  using 
their  bows  and  arrows  effectively.  Before  they 
could  fit  an  arrow  to  the  string  two  more  of  their 
number  lay  in  the  agonies  of  death  on  the  ground. 
Several  arrows  were  discharged,  but  the  per- 
turbation of  those  who  discharged  them,  and  their 
close  proximity  to  their  mark,  caused  them  to 
shoot  wide.  Most  of  the  shafts  missed  him.  Two 
quivered  in  his  shield,  and  one  pierced  the  sleeve 


\VILI»    .V 

Turnir 

f  —  !«•  ip  lo  one  side,  and  turning  round,  lit 

bow.    0 

. 

,  seemed    during  ;m 

on  of  \vluT<'  thr  <rr< 

<  >m<'iit  \\  i  re  \vhir 
:ii    him  in  all   d: 

hut    lie   sinirlfd   out    tins   clii  CC   and 

down   upon   him   like  a  thni 
. 

!  as  the  o 

!iis  steed  as  i: 

\\n '. 

that 
the 

Thr    r 

Ml  a 

. 

i    and   d 
iriei 
ih<  March  M 


THE  TRADERS  PURSUE  THE  INDIANS.    245 

savage  who  had  first  attacked  him,  and  whose 
throat  his  own  hand  grasped  with  the  tenacity 
and  force  of  a  vice. 

Most  of -the  Indians  leaped  over  the  bushes  and 
sought  the  shelter  of  the  thick  underwood,  as  the 
tremendous  horseman,  whom  doubtless  they  now 
deemed  invulnerable,  came  thundering  down  upon 
them  again  ;  but  about  twenty  of  the  bravest  stood 
their  ground.  At  that  moment  a  loud  shout;  and 
a  fierce  "  hurrah !  "  rang  out  and  echoed  hither 
and  thither  among  the  rocks ;  and,  next  instant, 
Big  Waller,  followed  by  Bounce  and  his  friends, 
as  well  as  by  Macgregor  and  his  whole  party, 
sprang  from  the  Wild-cat  Pass,  and  rushed 
furiously  upon  the  savages,  who  had  already 
turned  and  fled  toward  the  wood  for  shelter. 
The  whole  band  crossed  the  battle-field  like  a 
whirlwind,  leaped  over  or  burst  through  the 
bushes,  and  were  gone,  —  the  crashing  tread  of 
their  footsteps  and  an  occasional  shout  alone  re- 
maining to  assure  the  bewildered  artist,  who  was 
still  transfixed  immovable  to  the  ground,  that  the 
whole  scene  was  not  a  dream. 

But  Bertram  was  not  left  alone  on  that  bloody 
field.  On  the  first  sound  of  the  approach  of  the 
white  men  to  the  rescue,,  the  strange  horseman, 
—  who,  from  the  moment  of  his  bursting  so  op- 
portunely on  the  scene,  had  seemed  the  very 
impersonation  of  activity  and  colossal  might, — 
pulled  up  his  fiery  steed  ;  and  he  now  sat,  gazing 

21* 


216  -D   MAN   OF   IK 

(1    though    h  ;    not 

;<1    brinir    iinprt  1    surprised 

:ihk'    Iniiiif  r.      A 

.  mid  |-luckiiiLr   :i  'ul't  of  ^ 
from    the    ] 

. 

i-e  was  a  mi! 

ere. 

i 

. 

.. 


BERTRAM'S  ALARM  ON  SEEING  MARCH.     247 

being  turned  and  rode  toward  that  part  of  the 
wood  that  lay  nearest  to  the  wild  rocky  masses 
that  formed  the  outlet  from  the  pass.  On  gain- 
ing the  verge  of  the  plain  he  turned  his  head 
full  round,  and  fixed  his  clear  blue  eyes  on  the 
wondering  artist.  A  quiet  smile  played  on  his 
bronzed  features  for  an  instant,  as  he  bestowed 
upon  him  a  cheerful  nod  of  farewell.  Then, 
urging  his  steed  forward,  he  entered  the  woods 
at  a  slow  walk,  and  disappeared. 

The  heavy  tramp  of  his  horse's  hoofs  among 
the  broken  stones  of  the  rugged  path  had  scarcely 
died  away,  when  the  distant  tread  of  the  return- 
ing fur-traders  broke  on  Bertram's  ear.  This 
aroused  him  from  the  state  of  half-sceptical  hor- 
ror in  which  he  gazed  upon  the  scene  of  blood 
and  death  in  the  midst  of  which  he  stood- 
Presently  his  eye  fell,  for  the  first  time,  upon  the 
motionless  form  of  March  Marston.  The  sight 
effectually  restored  him.  With  a  slight  cry  of 
alarm,  he  sprang  to  his  friend's  side,  and,  kneel- 
ing down,  endeavored  to  loosen  the  death-like 
grasp  with  which  he  still  held  the  throat  of  his 
foe.  The  horror  of  the  poor  artist  may  be  imag- 
ined, when  he  observed  that  the  skull  of  the 
Indian  was  battered  in,  and  that  his  young 
comrade's  face  was  bespattered  with  blood  and 
brains. 

Just  then  several  of  the  trappers  and  fur-trad- 
ers galloped  upon  the  scene  of  the  late  skirmish. 


THE    WILD    MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 

"  H:dlo !     Mr.    Bert  ess 

r     polished     'rm 

icd   Big  Waller,  as    In- 

the  o;h«T-   leaped   to  the  ground  and 

. 

The  tone  in  which    the   Yankee 
this  betrayed  as  much  rage  :i  ,      The 

•_r  c'oinnule  having  heen  killed 
llilll  to  L':  3    teetli  \ 

«  ( 

l^ounce,  nil'  •  il  up  at 

him 

•    at     Ills    ride,    1  i:<l     his    hand    on     .March 
-ton's  h< 

i  a  drop 
.      The    hor.-M 
Lfood  lu« 

"Ah!  ,  as 

he  ran  10  obey. 

'i'l.  d  in  a 

few  11  similes  he  was  abl- 
rcineinl. 

i    .McLeod,  a<  h 
hurt,  young  m  in,  i  tx 
"  Oh !  nothing  to  speak 


DIFFERENT   IDEAS   AEOUT    THE    WILD   MAN.      249 

the  head  from  a  horse's  hoof,"  said  March  ;  "  I'll 
be  all  right  in  a  little  time.  Did  you  say  any 
thing  about  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  ? "  he 
added  earnestly. 

"  To  be  sure  I  did  ;  but  for  him  you  and  Mr. 
Bertram  would  have  been  dead  men,  I  fear.  Did 
you  not  see  him  ?  " 

"  See  him  ?  no,"  replied  March,  much  excited. 
'c  I  heard  a  tremendous  roar,  but  just  then  I  fell 
to  the  ground,  and  remember  nothing  more  that 
happened." 

"  Was  that  quiet  grave-looking  man  the  Wild 
Man  of  the  West  ?"  inquired  Bertram,  with  a 
mingled  feeling  of  interest  and  surprise. 

This  speech  was  received  with  a  loud  burst  of 
laughter  from  all  who  heard  it. 

"  Well  I've  never  seed  the  Wild  Man  till 
to-day,"  said  one,  "  though  I've  often  heer'd  of 
him,  but  I  must  say  the  little  glimpse  I  got  didn't 
show  much  that  was  mild  or  grave." 

"  I  guess  your  head's  bin  in  a  swum,  stranger," 
said  another,  "  I've  only  seed  him  this  once,  but 
I  don't  hope  to .  see  him  agin.  He  ain't  to  be 
trusted,  he  ain't,  that  feller." 

"  Arid  I've  seen  him  five  or  six  times,"  added 
McLeod,  "  and  all  I  can  say  is,  that  twice  out  o' 
the  five  he  was  like  an  incarnate  fiend,  and  the 
other  three  times  —  when  he  came  to  the  Moun- 
tain Fort  for  ammunition  —  he  was  as  gruff  and 
sulky  as  a  bear  with  the  measles." 


. 

more 

!i  of  the  West,  h 

i     M'irM»»n    rosr 
. 
niii 

. 

: 

. 


\v 


THE  TRAPPERS  PART  FROM  THE  TRADERS.   2-Ji 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

The  Hunting-ground.  —  How  they  spent  the  Sabbath  Day 
among  the  Mountains.  —  Threatening  Clouds  on  the  Hori- 
zon. 

NEXT  day  the  fur-traders  prepared  to  return  to 
the  Mountain  Fort,  and  the  trappers  to  continue 
their  journey  into  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

At  the  period  of  which  we  write,  the  fur  of 
the  beaver  was  much  in  demand  in  the  European 
markets,  and  trappers  devoted  much  of  their  time 
to  the  capture  of  that  sagacious  animal.  From 
McLeod,  Kedhand  learned  that  a  journey  of  eight 
or  ten  days  to  the  south-eastward  would  bring 
them  to  a  country  that  was  reported  to  be  much 
frequented  not  only  by  the  beaver,  but  by  many 
.other  fur-bearing  and  wild  animals ;  so  it  was 
resolved  that,  having  brought  their  traps  and 
supplies  with  them,  the  trappers,  instead  of  re- 
turning to  the  fort,  should  part  with  then*  enter- 
tainers at  the  spot  where  the  skirmish  had  oc- 
curred, and  make  for  that  hunting-ground  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  want  to  part  company 
with  us  yet,  Mr.  Bertram,"  said  old  Redhand,  as 
they  were  about  to  start. 


>n  of  qi 
i  do  not  find  me  a  burd 

•  1  with  a  sa<i 
"  A  burden! "  cried  Bounce  in  surpri 

-ider  yen  company  a  hm 

return  with  D 
io  March  Marston,  as  he  i 
hi-  .  in  want  of  a  stout   youm 

and  you'll  like  the  I 

"  I   thai, 
turned    March.    "  hut    in;. 

comrades;  I  like  trappin 
like  tradin'  — thouuh  IV 
80  prt'.— in'  all  the  .-a; 

separat*  d  —  thr  one  retracing  its  \ 
^'Lid-cat  Pass; 

Boendiog 

;  I  weeks  : 
thr  stormy  j-  passed,      i 

!    pleasantly 
beautiful  a  region  c. 

i  could  \vi>h  to  I!A  ell  in. 
com, 

moved  i   one  be 

and  remaining  a  longer  or  i 

place,  according  to  tl  ml 

hunting. 


THE   HUNTING-GROUND.  253 

The  country  was  of  so  peculiarly  diversified  a 
formation,  that,  within  the  compass  often  miles, 
every  possible  variety  of  scenery  existed,  —  from 
the  level  stretch  of  prairie  to  the  towering  snow- 
peaks  of  the  mountains ;  from  the  brake-encom- 
passed swamp,  in  which  the  frogs,  ducks,  geese, 
plover,  and  other  denizens  of  the  marshes  main- 
tained perpetual  jubilee,  to  the  dry  bush-dotted 
mounds  and  undulating  lands,  where  the  badger 
delighted  to  burrow  in  the  sandy  soil,  while  in 
other  places,  the  wolf,  the  fox,  and  the  grisly  bear 
prowled  amid  the  dark  recesses  of  the  forest. 

It  was  a  truly  beautiful  and  a  preeminently 
enjoyable  region,  and,  in  the  midst  of  it,  under 
the  spreading  branches  of  a  magnificent  pine, 
which  grew  on  the  top  of  a  little  mound  that 
commanded  an  extensive  prospect  on  every  side, 
the  trappers  pitched  their  camp,  and  began  their 
campaign  against  the  fur-bearing  animals  that 
dwelt  there. 

It  was  a  quiet  sunny  Sabbath  morning  when* 
our  trappers  arrived  at  the  tree  above  referred  to. 
They  had  encamped  the  previous  night  on  a 
swampy  piece  of  ground,  having  travelled  too  laie 
to  afford  time  to  search  for  a  better  spot,  so  that 
they  were  glad  to  rise  and  push  forward  at  the 
peep  of  day  on  Sabbath.  But  when,  in  the  course 
of  a  couple  of  hours,  they  reached  the  dry  coun- 
try, they  at  once  proceeded  to  encamp. 

During   their    journeying    the    trappers    had 


1>8O- 

dless   oi 

who  has  to! 

. 
!»r  thr  L" 

.  who 

iholllfll     i 

ihc 

— 
I  a  sensation  of 

hill 

the  uf   tlii'ir 

:)lc<l  CM-  i>  Bted  tui  llir 
SOlli'  in     cull]' 


THEOLOGY    01'    3!.Ui<  II    AM.-  <  M.         255 

March  Marston  and  the  artist  sauntered  about 
together,  and  conversed  with  animated  fluency 
and  wandering  volubility  —  as  young  mind, 
wont  to  do  — on  things  past,  present,  and  to  come ; 
things  terrestrial  and  celestial.  In  short,  there 
was  no  subject,  almost,  that  did  not  get  a  share  of 
their  attention,  as  they  sauntered  by  the  rippling 
brook  or  over  the  flowering  plain,  or  stood  upon 
the  mountain  side.  They  tried  u  every  thing  by 
turns,  and  nothing  long,"  and,  among  other 
mental  occupations,  they  read  portions  of  the 
Bible  together ;  for  Bertram  found  that  March 
earned  his  mother's  Testament  in  an  inner  breast- 
pocket of  his  hunting-shirt,  and  March  discovered 
that  his  friend  had  a  small  copy  of  the  Bible  — 
also  a  mother's  gift  —  which  shared  the  pouch  of 
his  leather  coat  with  the  well-known  sketch-book. 
They  conversed  freely  and  somewhat  boldly  on 
what  they  read,  and  we  doubt  not  that  our  learned 
divines,  had  they  listened  to  the  talk  of  the 
youthful  pioneer  and  the  young  hunter,  would 
have  been  surprised,  perhaps  edified,  by  the 
simple,  practical,  common-sense  views  promul- 
gated by  those  raw  theologians.  Certainly,  any 
one  listening  to  the  grave,  kindly,  philosophical 
commentary  of  March  Marston,  would  never  have 
believed  in  the  truth  of  that  statement  at  the 
commencement  of  this  story,  wherein  it  is  as- 
serted somewhat  positively  that "  March  Marston 
was  rnad ! " 


256 

,   l>iir  Waller,  :m<i  1> 
tlly    tog« 

reach  of  their 

ewshe  set  forth  D 
•  ith  (1-iy  wtT«-  so  vriri- 

lir     cir.-clll-llly    (jlld 

tilled    Big    Waller  \\  ith 

As  1'. 

. 
.      . 

, 

iii«* 
the 

. 
. 

.1    niinii-  h    \vith    the 

ijite:  :i    linl  i  it 


THE   FIRST    DAY    OF   TRAPPING.  257 

staggered  along  under  its  gigantic  burden  of  a 
single  seed,  climbing  over  a  mountainous  twig, 
tumbling  into  a  cavernous  hole  the  size  of  a  hazel- 
nut,  or  being  brought  to  a  hesitating  pause  by  a 
mountain-torrent  a  quarter  of  an  inch  broad. 

The  sedate  Indian  took  special  pleasure  in 
watching  the  doings  of  his  old  friend.  Usually, 
he  contented  himself  with  a  grunt  of  assent  when 
Redhand  made  a  remark  on  the  peculiarities  of  a 
plant  or  an  insect,  but  sometimes  he  ventured  on  a 
brief  observation,  and  occasionally  even  proposed 
a  question  to  his  aged  companion,  which  Redhand 
found  it  difficult  to  answer.  There  was  little 
interchange  of  thought  between  those  two  silent 
men,  but  there  was  much  of  quiet  enjoyment. 

So  passed  the  Sabbath  day.  Early  on  the  follow- 
ing morning  the  trappers  were  astir,  and  before  the 
sun  tinged  the  mountain-peaks,  their  beaver-traps 
were  set,  an  extensive  portion  of  the  territory  they 
had  thus  quietly  taken  possession  of  had  been 
explored  in  several  directions,  a  couple  of  deer  had 
been  shot,  a  mountain-goat  seen,  and  a  grisly  bear 
driven  from  his  den  and  pursued,  but  not  killed ; 
besides  a  number  of  wild  fowl  having  been  bagged, 
and  an  immense  number  of  creatures,  including 
mustangs,  or  wild  horses,  roused  from  their  lairs. 

When  the  scattered  hunters  returned  to  the 
camp  to  breakfast,  they  found  themselves  in  a 
satisfied,  happy  state  of  mind,  with  a  strong  dis- 
position, on  the  part  of  some,  to  break  their  fast 

22* 


WILD  MAN   OP   THE   WB8T. 

••  It 

'1   on   tl- 

'on! 

I    tin-    piprs  ' 

. 

tin1 

; tiling  to  « 
Big    Wall-T    ii: 


SUCCESS    OF   THE    TRAPP1  259 

from  him.  Whereupon  Gibault,  wilfully  mis- 
understanding, said,  with  a  look  of  unutterable 
surprise,  that  he  would  never  have  believed  it  — 
no,  never  —  had  anybody  else  told  him,  that  Big 
Waller  had  actually  run  away  from  a  bear !  He 
couldn't  bear  to  hear  of  it,  and  would  not  believe 
it  though  Waller  himself  said  it.  As  for  Bertram, 
having  filled  the  pages  of  his  sketch-book,  back 
and  front,  he  was  compelled  to  take  to  miniature 
drawing  in  corners  and  blank  bits,  and  in  this 
way  began  to  book  the  entire  region,  and  to  revel 
in  his-  loved  art. 

Several  weeks  passed  away,  and  during  that 
time  of  peace  and  plenty,  our  trappers  had  it  all 
to  themselves.  They  caught  and  killed  numbers 
of  animals  ;  stripped  off,  dried,  and  packed  quan- 
tities of  valuable  furs  ;  ate  enormous  meals,  with 
the  gusto  of  men  who  had  laboriously  earned 
the  right  to  do  so,  and  related  stories  and  anec- 
dotes enough  to  fill  a  huge  volume.  In  short, 
they  enjoyed  themselves  beyond  conception,  and 
Bertram  agreed  with  March  Marston  in  thinking 
that  Bunyan's  land  of  Beulah  could  not  have 
surpassed  that  delightful  region. 

But  one  day  there  came  a  small  cloud  on  their 
blue  sky  of  felicity.  An  event  occurred  which 
mdely  dispelled  their  pleasant  dreams,  filled  their 
hearts  with  anxiety,  and  finally  broke  up  their 
camp  in  a  way  that  led  to  disastrous,  though  not 
altogether  ruinous,  consequences. 


260  wu.i 


CH  A  I'TER    XV. 

—  The  Mountain 
ti>  th«-  !:•  -  |  with  Foe- 

-  h  meets  with  a  Severe  Misfortune. 

ruing,  just  as  the  tr; 

ilhoil!      lli 

11  with  the  produce  of  tin 
they  were  st;iri!ed  1>V  tin1  MIC 

i  to 

• 

h  up  ill-  run  to  a  pl:i> 

. 

»srd    tli:, 

li;uid  ;ni<l  \\(  in  ice  were  altogether 

sur;  .      I 

at  ti 

. 

hollow  in  the  i^roun...  ihr 

mound  on  \vliic-h  ;hcy  were  «  .     . 

their  valiiiii.les   h;id    ba  D  iiiid   tlu' 


PRECAUTION  OF  THE  THAPPERS.      261 

edge  of  the  hole  a  rude  breast-work  had  been 
raised,  so  that  the  party,  when  in  it,  could  fire 
through  little  openings  in  the  breast- work  with- 
out exposing  themselves  to  view. 

To  this  fortress  they  retired,  the  instant  the 
Indians  made  their  appearance.  Fortunately  all 
the  members  of  the  little  party  had  come  in. 

"  They're  holdin'  a  council  o'  war,"  said 
Bounce,  carefully  examining  the  priming  of  his 
piece.  "  It's  as  like  as  not  they'll  attack  us,  but 
they'll  git  a  hearty,  and  an  oncommonly  warm, 
welcome." 

"  They'll  not  attack  us,"  said  Eedhand.  «  They 
know  that  white  men  never  travel  without  plenty 
of  powder  and  ball,  and  they  don't  like  taking  a 
place  by  storm." 

"  Ay,"  remarked  Waller,  sarcastically,  "  'cause 
they  knows  that  the  first  man  as  comes  on  is 
sartin  sure  to  fall,  an'  they  knows  that  they  can't 
come  on  without  somebody  comin'  first. 

"  But  there's  brave  fellers  among  the  redskins," 
rejoined  Bounce,  "  I  knowed  a  set  o'  young 
fellers  as  banded  thirselves  together,  and  swore 
they'd  go  through  fire  an'  water,  thick  an'  thin, 
but  they'd  niver  turn  back  from  the  face  o' 
danger  wherever  they  met  it.  So,  one  day  they 
wos  crossin'  a  river  on  the  ice,  and  the  first  on 
'em  fell  in,  an'  wos  earned  away  by  the  current, 
an'  what  does  the  second  do,  but  he  walks 
straight  into  the  hole,  an'  wos  drowned  too,  an' 


WILD   MAN   0. 

wos  goin'  to  follrr.  whm  tin-  ol«l  > 
.  I  do  bTicve *' 

u   \  •  iiry  \V<>: 

is  occasion  they  w 

. 
. 
hip, 

bold  an'  appear 
\  ing  do\ 

. 

'  see  tr« 
. 

• 
* 

. 

iMii;k<  i\ 


THE    OFFERED    FRIENDSHIP   DECLINED.        263 

wishin'  to  keep  friends  with  us  instead  of  tryin' 
to  lift  our  scalps  and  carry  off  our  furs  and 
horses,  shows  me  that  they've  some  more  press- 
in'  business  on  hand.  Mr.  McLeod  described 
to  me  the  appearance  of  one  or  two  o'  the  In- 
juns that  hates  the  fur-traders  most,  so  that  I 
might  be  on  my  guard,  an'  I'm  quite  sure  ,of 
some  of  them  are  with  that  band.  Now,  what 
say  ye  ?  Shall  I  tell  'em  we  don't  want  ther 
acquaintance  ?  " 

"  Tell  'em  they're  a  set  o'  lyin'  thieves,"  said 
Big  Waller ;  "  I  guess  we'll  have  nothin'  to  say 
to  'em  wotiver." 

"  Oui,  et  give  to  dem  mine  complements," 
added  Gibault,  "  an'  say  we  ver'  moch  'blige  by 
dere  goodness,  mais,  dey  vill  all  be  shooted  if  dey 
not  go  away  queek." 

Redhand  did  not  give  these  polite  messages  to 
the  Indian,  but  on  returning  to  him  he  presented 
him  with  a  piece  of  tobacco,  and  advised  him  to 
continue  his  journey  without  loss  of  time,  as  the 
buffaloes  were  travelling  south  and  might  be  out 
of  the  way  whip  they  reached  the  prairie. 

Whether  the  Indians  felt  angry  or  not  it  is 
impossible  to  say.  They  seemed  indifferent  to 
their  cool  reception  by  the  trappers,  and  soon 
after  rode  off  at  full  speed,  in  a  direction  that  led 
away  from  the  Mountain  Fort  —  a  circumstance 
which  still  further  confirmed  Redhand  in  his 
suspicions. 


THK    \\l\A)    MAN    UF    THK    Wi 

is  re- 

'ind  t<>  •  ;is  was  fully 

pasfl  them    in  tin- 

ie  impend 

Jn    lc.-s    ;lr:n    nn    In  i 

galloping  n  i  in 

;luk  tr;iil  doubled  b:i 

icir  w;i\ 
s  had  a 

I 

1  with   tiir  ii 

• 
guessed    ill. 


A  PELL-MELL  RACE  TO  THE  FORT.     265 

they  pushed  on  at  full  speed  and  very  soon  came 
up  with  the  white  men.  It  was  a  dark  night, 
so  that  they  could  not  see  far  in  advance  of 
them,  and  thus  it  happened  that  the  two  parties, 
on  entering  a  narrow  defile,  almost  rode  into 
each  other,  with  a  yell  of  fierce  surprise  on  both 
sides. 

As  there  were  at  least  fifty  Indians,  Redhand 
thought  it  better  to  avoid  a  doubtful  combat  by 
scattering  his  men  through  the  woods,  and  let- 
ting each  make  the  best  of  his  way  to  the  fort 


"  Run,  boys  !  scatter  !  to  the  fort  !  " 
This  was  all  that  was  deemed  needful  in  the 
way  of  command  or  explanation.  Firing  a 
single  volley  at  the  enemy,  they  turned  and  fled. 
"  Foller  me,''  shouted  Waller  to  the  bewildered 
Bertram,  as  a  shower  of  arrows  whistled  past 
their  ears.  The  artist  obeyed  mechanically,  and 
in  another  moment  they  were  flying  through  the 
wood  at  a  pace  that  seemed,  and  actuaUy  was, 
reckless  under  the  circumstances.  But  the  Indi- 
ans did  not  attempt  to  pursue.  They  knew 
that  their  intention  had  been  discovered,  and 
that  their  only  chance  of  success  now  lay  in  out- 
riding the  pale-faces.  The  ride,  in  fact,  became 
a  long  race  ;  neither  party  making  the  slightest 
attempt  to  hunt  up  the  other,  but  each  straining 
every  nerve  and  muscle  to  get  first  to  the  doomed 
fort. 

23 


tin-in  m«-T.  ;iiid  \\hrn    tli 

Hill  Ha-  .   Rrdhuiid,  and  (iikiult, 

\'.i\x    in     : 
11  came  dash 

Lme  nr;n 
:  tin1  gate  w:i 
I  into   thr   square.      In  ;i   lr\v   h 

UK!    W8I  ;unl 

:innilion  \vi-n-   served   out,  and   MX  n. 

ihc  gate  to  br  in  n-;tdiin>s  to  OJM  n  it 
JILT  trifiidsi  or  t<>  >hut   it    in  thr 

bad 

\Vhcn    i  i   the 

on's 

.id  \voiih  u-<-li 

thiMiLflit    the  \\  omul 

tges  not 
him,  hf  ur^rd  h 


MARCH   ALONE   IN   THE   FOREST.  267 

nature  of  the  ground  would  admit  of.  Before 
he  had  gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  however,  the 
poor  steed  fell,  throwing  March  over  its  head. 
In  his  flight  the  youth's  forehead  came  into  vio- 
lent contact  with  a  branch,  and  he  fell  to  the 
ground  insensible. 

His  comrades,  ignorant  of  his  fate,  continued 
their  wild  flight.  Thus,  our  hero  was  forsaken, 
and  left  bruised  and  bleeding  in  the  dark  forest. 


UII.l'    M 


[APTEB    XVI. 

••ta  with  a   Strange    I  •  .<*»  in  a   > 

.1  Strange  Cavern  and  beholds  Strange  Sights.  —  Bo- 

crini/  r<> 
was    broad   day-liirlit, —  from    \\liich    he 

all    nii:ht.      lie   :il<t. 

e   of    some    un 

. 

up 
bin 

Mng  exc« 

. 

IILT  in   1! 

J  by  a  j 

luiid;ii.-s    oi'    tli-  with   a 


MARCH   MEETS   A   KIND   FRIEND.  269 

mantle  and  idealizing  tendencies  of  human  na- 
ture ;  or  that  the  color  is  (or  ought  to  be,  if  it 
is  not),  emblematic  of  purity.  We  throw  out 
this  suggestion  solely  for  the  benefit  of  unimpas- 
sioned  philosophers.  Those  whose  hearts  are 
already  under  the  pleasant  thraldom  of  black  or 
brown  eyes  are  incapable  of  forming  an  opinion 
on  the  abstract  question. 

Well,  March  observed,  further,  that  below  those 
soft  blue  eyes,  there  was  a  handsome  Roman 
nose,  and  immediately  below  that  a  moustache, 
and  a  thick  short  beard  of  curly  light-brown  hair. 
A  slight  —  very  slight,  feeling  of  regret  mingled 
with  the  astonishment  with  which  March  passed 
from  the  contemplation  of  the  soft  blue  eyes  to 
the  bushy  beard.  He  also  noted  that  the  stranger 
wore  a  little  leathern  cap,  and  that  a  profusion 
of  rich  brown  hair  descended  from  his  head  to  his 
shoulders. 

"  Ye're  better,  lad,"  said  the  owner  of  the  blue 
eyes  in  that  deep  musical  bass  voice,  which  one 
meets  with  but  rarely,  and  which  resembles 
strongly,  at  times,  the  low  pipes  of  a  cathedral 
organ. 

"  Thank  ee,  yes,  I'm " 

"  There,  don't  move  yet  awhile.  You're  badly 
bruised,  lad.  I'll  go  fetch  ye  another  drop  o' 
water." 

The  owner  of  the  blue  eyes  rose  as  he  spoke, 
laid  March's  head  softly  on  the  ground,  and 

23* 


of  M  tn. 
his 

one  \VMS 

lmi;  H    and   l«'LrL.r'ng8  Of  a 

h  df], I 

in. 

- 

full  of  \v:itrr   ill   hi-   ban 
the    lines    of   his    fo. 

I.       Hr 

llic 

- 
tlir  •  (Ifscrip]  .iiiu 


MAUCH   AND   THE   WILD    MAN.  271 

seemed  quite  irreconcilable  with  the  soft  blue  eye 
and  gentle  manner  of  the  hunter  who  had  come 
thus  opportunely  to  his  aid.  For  one  moment, 
indeed,  the  idea  did  occur  to  March  that  this 
was  the  Wild  Man.  It  was  natural  that,  having 
bad  his  thoughts  for  so  long  a  period  filled  with 
conjectures  in  reference  to  this  wonderful  creature, 
he  should  suppose  the  first  tall,  mysterious  man 
he  met  must  be  he.  But  he  dismissed  the  notion 
as  untenable  and  absurd  on  second  thoughts. 
That  the  blue-eyed,  calm,  dignified  hunter  who 
kneeled  by  his  side  and  held  the  refreshing  water 
to  his  lips  as  if  he  were  a  trained  sick-nurse, 
should  be  the  Wild  Man,  the  man  reported  to  be 
forty  feet  high,  covered  with  hair,  and  exceeding 
fierce  besides  ugly,  was  out  of  the  question.  And 
when  March  shut  his  eyes  in  the  full  enjoyment 
of  the  cool  draught,  of  which,  poor  fellow,  he 
stood  much  in  need,  and  heard  the  supposed 
wild  man  give  vent  to  a  sigh,  which  caused  him 
to  look  up  in  surprise,  so  that  he  observed  the 
mild  blue  eyes  gazing  sadly  in  his  face,  and  the 
large  head  to  which  they  belonged  shaking  from 
side  to  side  mournfully,  he  almost  laughed  at  him- 
self for  even  momentarily  entertaining  such  an 
absurd  idea. 

March  Marston  had  much  to  learn  —  we  mean 
in  the  way  of  reading  human  character  and  in 
judging  from  appearances.  He  had  not  yet  ob- 
served, in  the  course  of  his  short  life,  that  if  a 


D  MAN  C-i 

MU-  of  expressing  & 

pecfe      H«'   did 

if  tills    : 

of  being  eni_ 

. 

;  as 

;i  large  baini 
a  small  and 
m\^  all  thr 

le   him    ' 
. 

a  £i. 

1  — 

I'll 

tin-   Wild    Man  in  a 
low. 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  THE  HUNTEKJS  HOME.   273 

March  performed  this  somewhat  endearing  ac- 
tion in  silent  surprise,  whereupon  the  Wild  Man 
introduced  his  left  arm  below  the  poor  yoi. 
back,  and  with  his  right  grasped  him  round  the 
legs,  and  thus  lifted  him  from  the  ground  and 
carried  him  away. 

March  experienced  a  sensation  as  if  all  his 
larger  joints  were  being  dislocated,  and  felt  dis- 
posed to  cry  out,  but  restrained  himself  with  a 
powerful  effort.  Presently  his  bearer  stopped, 
and,  looking  round,  March  observed  that  he  was 
standing  by  the  side  of  a  horse. 

"  Hold  on,  lad,  tiU  I  mount." 

"  You'd  better  let  me  down  till  you  get  up," 
suggested  March. 

"  No,"  replied  this  singularly  laconic  indi- 
vidual. 

Standing  as  he  was,  the  Wild  Man  managed 
by  raising  March  a  little  to  lay  his  left  hand  on 
the  pommel  of  his  saddle  ;  next  moment  his  foot 
was  in  the  stirrup,  the  moment  after  he  himself 
was  in  the  saddle,  and  a  touch  of  his  heel  sent 
his  horse  cantering  away  toward  the  mountains. 

Had  March  Marston  seen  his  deliverer  at  that 
time,  with  his  long  hair  waving  freely  in  the 
breeze,  in  emulation  of  the  voluminous  mane  and 
tail  of  his  splendid  horse,  his  thoughts  regarding 
the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  would  have  certainly 
returned  more  powerfully  than  ever.  But  March 
did  not  see  him,  his  eyes  being  shut,  hi#  lips 


. 

pill 

vhirh   he  was  si. 
In    liulf  ;in    hour   ill 

the    R< 
Wild   Man   had   to  rh 

•  n. 

i    the 
is  charg. 

\vere  ;i  sin:ill  iiifint  in  :i 

/t    you    think 
1 
on." 

h. 
.  hut,  us  he  (1  :hrr 

«  are  broken  ?"  iiKjuired  .M 

'•  1 ! 

1m;     * 
the  : 


THE   JOURNEY   TO   THE   HUNTEIl'S   HOME.      275 

"  I  fear  there  are,"  said  March,  as  a  rude 
motion  of  the  horse  caused  him  excruciating 
agony. 

"  Very  likely,"  replied  the  other  —  not 'by  any 
means  in  a  careless,  indifferent  way,  but  with 
the  ah-  and  tone  of  a  straightforward  man  giv- 
ing his  opinion  in  reference  to  a  matter  of  fact. 
"  But,"  he  added  in  a  consolatory  tone,  "  I'll  see 
when  we  get  home." 

"  Home  !  "  repeated  March ;  "  Why,  where  is 
your  home  ?  " 

"  In  the  mountains  here.  We're  about  there 
now." 

As  he  spoke,  the  hunter  turned  his  horse  sharp 
to  the  left  and  entered  a  still  more  narrow  and 
gloomy  defile  than  the  one  they  had  just  been 
ascending.  So  narrow  was  it  and  overshadowed 
by  high  precipitous  cliffs  that  the  light  of  day 
had  to  struggle  for  entrance  even  at  noontide. 
At  night  it  was  dark  as  Erebus.  The  horse  had 
considerable  difficulty  in  advancing.  Indeed  no 
horse  that  had  not  been  trained  to  pick  his  steps 
among  the  confused  masses  of  rock  and  debris 
that  formed  the  bottom  of  that  ravine  or  chasm, 
could  have  ascended  it  at  all.  But  the  fine  ani- 
mal which  bore  March  and  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West  seemed  to  act  more  like  a  human  being 
than  a  horse  in  winding  out  and  in  among  the 
intricacies  of  the  place. 

At  length  they  reached  the  upper  end  of  the 


J 
ir.in  ihrre   yards  asunder.     .1 

\\  liicli  < 

id   rosr 
13  if  one  had  got  into  th 

of   i 

. 

pui 

But  he  i 
con,  mind  \v. 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  HUNTER.       277 

a  violent  state  of  agitation  by  the  fact  that  the 
horse,  turning  to  the  right,  began  deliberately  to 
ascend  the  precipice,  which  was  as  perpendicular 
as  a  wall.  It  did  not  indeed  ascend  after  the  mari- 
ner of  a  fly  on  a  window,  but  it  went  up  on  what 
appeared  to  be  a  narrow,  spiral  pathway.  In  a 
lew  seconds  they  had  ascended  about  fifty  feet, 
and  March,  projecting  out  from  the  precipice  as 
he  did,  owing  to  his  position  in  the  rider's  left 
arm,  felt  a  horrible  sensation  of  giddiness  come 
over  him,  and  could  not  suppress  a  slight  groan. 

"  Don't  be  affeared,  lad,"  said  his  companion, 
"  I've  got  ye  tight,  an'  the  horse  is  used  to  it. 
The  track's  broader  than  ye  think,  only  ye  can't 
see  it  as  ye  lie  now." 

March  felt  reassured  ;  nevertheless,  he  shut  his 
eyes  very  tight  and  held  his  breath. 

Presently  he  felt  that  they  had  turned  sharp  to 
the  right,  so  he  ventured  to  open  his  eyes,  and 
found  that  they  were  standing  at  the  mouth  of 
what  appeared  to  be  a  cavern.  In  another  mo- 
ment they  were  under  its  dark  roof,  and  the  horse 
came  to  a  stand.  From  the  hasty  glance  he  gave 
it,  he  could  only  ascertain  that  the  interior  was 
buried  in  profound  darkness. 

Without  causing  March  to  move  in  any  way, 
the  stout  horseman  dismounted.  In  fact,  the 
burden  seemed  no  greater  to  him  than  a  child 
would  be  to  an  ordinary  man. 

24 


ill." 

[6 

with  tin 

inut.-  \\  lirn  : 

. 

1    in  \\  ind    EU 

ing 

.    lir    frll 

iild. 

in«-n    to  be 
thus   ln\v   SOUK 
\\}i;ii    the; 


MARCH  IN  THE  HUNTER'S  CAVE.          279 

and  helpless  ones  of  this  world,  are  dependent 
at  all  times  on  their  fellows. 

On  reaching  the  outer  end  of  the  outer  cave,  the 
hunter  turned  to  the  left,  stooped  down  in  order 
to  pass  below  a  small  natural  arch,  and  finally 
stood  in  the  middle  of  another  cavern,  on  the 
floor  of  which  he  deposited  his  burden  with  much 
tenderness  and  care. 

There  was  a  light  in  this  cave,  but  it  was  so 
dim  as  to  be  insufficient  to  illuminate  the  sur- 
rounding objects.  March  perceived,  on  looking 
up,  that  it  entered  through  a  small  aperture  in  the 
side  of  the  cavern  near  the  roof,  which  was  not 
more  than  twelve  feet  from  the  floor.  There  were 
several  pieces  of  charred  wood  on  one  side  of  the 
cave,  in  which  a  few  sparks  of  fire  still  lingered. 

Without  saying  a  word  the  owner  of  this 
strange  abode  went  toward  these,  and,  blowing 
them  into  a  flame,  heaped  large  logs  upon  them, 
so  that,  in  ten  minutes,  the  place  was  brilliantly 
illuminated  with  a  ruddy  blaze  that  did  one's 
heart  good  to  look  upon. 

By  the  light  of  the  fire  March  perceived  that  he 
had  been  deposited  on  a  couch  of  pine-branches. 
He  was  about  to  make  other  observations,  when 
his  captor  turned  to  him  and  said  — 

"  1'H  go  an'  see  to  the  horse,  an'll  be  back  in  a 
minute  ;  so  keep  yer  mind  easy." 

"  And,  pray,  what  name  am  I  to  call  my  host 
by  ?  "  said  March,  unable  to  restrain  his  curiosity 
any  longer. 


B8T. 

. 

thing 

mol 

r  than  r 

i    th<» 

ii,  I'll   l>o 
,-8." 

had 
had 


DICK   PRONOUNCES   MARCH   ALL   RIGHT.         281 

sion,  as  well  as  with  the  pain  that  racked  his  head 
and  limbs,  that  he  had  had  no  time  to  think 
about  them.  But,  now  that  he  was  left  in  that 
quiet  place  alone,  the  whole  circumstances  of  the 
recent  pursuit  and  flight  rushed  suddenly  upon 
him,  and  his  mind  was  filled  with  anxious  fore- 
boding as  to  the  fate  of  his  comrades. 

"  Oh !  I'm  glad  you've  come  back,"  he  cried, 
as  Dick  reentered  the  cave ;  "  I  quite  forgot  my 
comrades  —  shame  on  me!  but  my  miserable 
head  has  got  such  a  smash,  that  a'most  every 
thing's  been  drove  out  of  it." 

"  Time  enough  to  speak  o'  them  after  #e've 
seen  to  your  bones,"  said  Dick. 

"  Nay,  but " 

"  After"  said  Dick,  in  a  tone  that  was  not  to 
be  gainsaid. 

March  submitted  with  a  sigh,  and  his  eccentric 
host  proceeded  to  manipulate  and  punch  him  in 
a  way  that  might,  perhaps,  have  been  highly 
necessary,  but  was  by  no  means  agreeable.  After 
a  few  minutes  he  pronounced  his  patient  all  right, 
only  a  little  bruised!  Having  said  which,  he 
proceeded  to  prepare  some  food,  and  said  to 
March  that  he  might  now  speak  about  his  com- 
rades. 

At  first  he  seemed  to  pay  little  attention  to  the 
youth's  hasty  narrative ;  but  on  hearing  that  the 
Indians  were  hastening  to  attack  the  Mountain 
Fort,  he  sprang  up,  and  asked  a  few  questions 

24* 


.L)   MAN   OF   TIIE   V 

iu»  or  t\vo  h  : 
Iiich  lie 

•  1  gone  so  far  as  to  r:irn  him 

i 


he 

I, — 

rly. 


DICK'S   ACCOUNT   OF  THE   WILD   MAN.        283 

"  I  have,  many  a  time." 

"  What  is  he  like.- 

"  He's  like  me"  replied  Dick,  with  another 
smile,  the  softness  of  which  would  have  driven 
March  to  an  immeasurable  distance  from  the 
truth,  had  he  ever  been  near  it. 

"Like  you!  Oh,  I  suppose  you  mean  he's 
something  about  your  size.  Well,  I  don't  wonder 
at  that,  for  you're  an  uncommonly  big  fellow, 
Dick ;  but  I  fancy  his  appearance  is  very  dif- 
ferent." 

"  Well,  no.  He's  got  light  hair  and  blue  eyes, 
like  me." 

This  was  a  poser  to  March.  It  was  so  totally 
subversive  of  all  his  preconceived  ideas,  that  it 
reduced  him  for  some  moments  to  silence. 

"  Isn't  he  hairy  ah1  over,  like  a  fox,  and  very 
ugly  ? "  inquired  March,  recovering  from  his 
surprise. 

This  was  a  poser,  in  turn,  to  the  Wild  Man. 
To  be  called  upon  suddenly  to  pronounce  an 
opinion  on  his  own  looks  was  embarrassing,  to  say 
the  least  of  it. 

"  He's  not  exactly  hairy  all  over,"  said  Dick, 
after  a  moment's  thought,  "  though  it  can't  be 
denied  he's  got  plenty  of  hair  on  his  head  and 
chin  —  like  me.  As  for  his  looks,  lad,  it  ain't 
easy  to  say  whether  he's  ugly  or  pritty,  for  men 
don't  agree  on  sich  pints,  d'ye  see." 

"  Do  sit  down  beside  me,  Dick,  and  tell  me 


WILD   MAN    Oi 

MI!     thi- 
••  \ 

Pvc 

i  in   o'  the  \\VM.  An' 
iT  '      I    mii,rht    h  11    him 

agonc.  if  I  hii.in'i  hiii  Mimm-d  with 
e  jiiiii|)ii.' 

hundrr " 

u  \\"h  it,    l:i- :.  1     Dirk, 

" 

did  frui: 

i 

.  who 

tll<   \ 
'•    1 

things  •«»  a 

. 

;-  1\ 

"  Why,  lu> 


DICK   PUZZLES   MARCH.  285 

about  things  in  this  part  o'  the  country.  I  know 
every  thing  the  Wild  Man  does.  He  can't  move 
without  my  bein'  on  his  track  d'rectly.  In  fact, 
I  follers  him  like  his  shadow.  Leastwise,  his 
shadow  follers  me." 

"  Indeed,  exclaimed  March,  whose  interest 
in  Dick  became  suddenly  tenfold  more  deep  on 
learning  this.  "  But  why  do  you  follow  him  about 
in  this  fashion  ?  Does  he  like  your  company,  or  do 
you  only  follow  him  on  the  sly,  and  keep  out  of 
sight  ?  Explain  yourself,  Dick  —  you  puzzle  me." 

"I  can't  explain  just  now,  lad,"  said  Dick, 
rising  abruptly.  "  You  forget  that  your  com- 
rades may  be  in  a  fix  before  now  wi'  them  black- 
guard redskins.  I  must  go  an'  help  them.  It's 
but  right  that  white  men  should  lend  one  another 
a  helpin'  hand  in  these  regions,  where  the  Injuns 
have  it  almost  all  their  own  way." 

"  But  the  Mountain  Fort  is  far  away  from  this, 
an'  I'm  afraid  you'll  never  be  able  to  get  there  in 
time,"  said  March,  with  an  anxious  expression 
of  countenance. 

"  HI  try,"  returned  Dick.  "  Anyhow,  I'll  send 
the  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  to  help  them,"  he 
added,  with  a  peculiar  smile.  "  Now,  boy,  listen, 
I  must  not  waste  more  time  in  idle  talk.  I  shall 
leave  you  here  under  the  charge  of  my  little 
girl " 

"  Your  little  girl ! "  echoed  March  in  surprise. 

"  Ay,  she  ought  to  have  been  in  before  now," 


US   WEST. 

<  inir  the  intrrrnjf 
I  ould  li1  her  win 

how    I  '  what  to  do  till 

10    h«T  V. 

WBfl  lu-iinl  in 

/nuii:  n: 
ml  Mn><:  .  throuirli  thr  u;i;ur:il 

0  a  silver. 

Led  h»-l«l  • 

1    l>y  :i    / 
siLrlit     • 

MB 

UK" 

toll  1     Ix-rli     b  <1 

I,  in  a  »  \v*8. 

ir'H 

ye  d 

f — j?o,  j 
\\"hi!«-  the  \\ 


DICK   GOES   TO   THE   MOUNTAIN   FORT.        287 

fences  abruptly,  he  was  striding  about  the  cave 
with  what  maybe  styled  enormous  vigor,  picking 
up  and  buckling  on  his  weapons  of  war.  He 
seized  a  double-edged  sword  of  gigantic  propor- 
tions and  buckled  it  to  his  waist,  but  March  saw 
it  not.  He  pulled  on  the  scalp-fringed  coat  of 
a  Blackfoot  chief,  with  leggins  to  match,  but 
March  knew  it  not.  He  slung  a  powder-horn 
and  bullet-pouch  round  his  shoulders,  stuck  a 
knife  and  tomahawk  into  his  belt,  and  grasped  a 
long  rifle  which  stood  in  a  corner ;  and,  in  doing 
all  this,  he  made  such  a  tremendous  clatter,  and 
displayed  such  wonderful  activity,  and  grew  so' 
much  fiercer  to  look  at  in  every  stage  of  the 
process,  that  March  would  certainly  have  recurred 
to  the  idea  of  the  Wild  Man,  had  he  been  in  his 
ordinary  state  of  mind ;  but  he  was  not  in  that 
happy  condition.  March  knew  nothing  about  it 
whatever ! 

Before  going,  Dick  stooped  and  kissed  the 
"  vision  "  on  the  cheek.  March  saw  that !  It 
recalled  him  for  a  moment  and  made  him  aware 
of  the  disappearance  of  his  host,  and  of  the  loud 
clattering  sounds  of  his  charger's  hoofs,  as  he  led 
him,  at  a  rapid  walk,  across  the  outer  cave. 
March  even  heard  the  general  clatter  of  all  his 
accoutrements,  as  he  vaulted  into  the  saddle  at 
one  bound,  and  went  down  that  terrible  rocky 
way  at  a  breakneck  gallop  that  would  have 
caused  him  (March),  in  other  circumstances,  to 


\\ii.i.  y 
>hi:<!  :   i.      t  lie  \vas  but 

:•('    (>f     tli« 

/turiu'd  ;   his  whole   soul  :   his 

.   hi-  c« 
all  i 

. 
in  A 


ON  VISIONS.  289 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

The  Vision  in  Leather. 

IT  is  all  very  well  for  men  of  the  world,  men 
of  fashion,  men  who  pride  themselves  on  being 
highly  civilized  and  peculiarly  refined,  to  fancy 
that  there  are  no  other  visions  in  this  world  than 
"  visions  in  silk,"  "  visions  in  white,"  and  the 
like.  Those  who  think  thus  labor  under  an 
egregious,  though  a  civilized,  mistake. 

Happily  there  are  kind,  loving,  pretty  faces  in 
this  world,  the  possessors  of  which  know  nothing 
about  pink  gauze  or  white  muslin.  Faces  that 
have  never  felt  the  hot  air  of  a  drawing-room, 
but  are  much  used  to  present  themselves,  un- 
veiled, to  the  fresh  breezes  of  the  prairie  and  the 
mountain ;  faces  that  possess  the  rare  quality  of 
universal  attraction,  and  that  cause  men  to  fancy, 
when  they  see  them  for  the  first  time,  that  they 
have  beheld  a  vision ! 

The  fact  is  that  some  faces  are  visions,  whether 
the  forms  that  support  them  appear  to  us  in 
muslin  or  in  deer-skin.  The  only  requisite  need- 
ful to  constitute  a  face  a  vision  to  any  particular 
person,  is  that  it  should  have  in  it  that  peculiar 
something1  which  everybody  wants,  but  which 

25 


29C 

though     in:-  e  :     and    \\  1 

\vhni    oner    seen    by    ai  thr 

•ssesses  it  a  \ 

thr  drr<-  in  which  t)i 
thr  tir-t    Tim 

ress  goes  for  little  or  nothing.      M 

l     :iJ)J)r;irnl,    :i<    \\  6     li 

r  the  \\'ild   .M:ni  i,  M;tr< •;. 

tinned  to  gaze  B 

kinds  nf 

:il>()  witlioii'  :iif  or  tai. 

him, 

11   in 

t    eoniplexionrd    In- 

. 

all, 

h   r 

s  young, 

look    o. 


DICK'S    LITTLE    GIRL.  291 

guessed  her  to  be  sixteen.  He  was  wrong.  She 
had  only  seen  fifteen  summers. 

Her  dress  was  a  beautifully-dressed  deer-skin 
gown,  reaching  below  the  knees,  as  soft  as  cha- 
mois leather,  and  ornamented  with  beads  and 
quill- work.  It  was  girded  round  her  small  waist 
by  a  leather  belt,  from  which  depended  a  small 
hunting-knife.  A  pair  of  ornamented  leggings 
of  the  same  material  as  the  gown  covered  her 
limbs,  and  moccasins  her  feet,  which  latter,  as 
well  as  her  hands,  were  small  and  beautifully 
formed.  Over  her  shoulders  were  slung  the 
masculine  appendages  of  a  powder-horn  and 
bullet-poucn,  proving  that  this  creature  was,  so 
to  speak,  a  Dianic  vision. 

Her  staring  so  hard  and  so  long  at  March 
without  speaking  or  smiling,  or  taking  any  more 
notice  of  him  than  if  he  had  been  an  effigy  on  a 
tombstone,  seemed  unaccountable  to  that  youth. 
Had  he  been  able  to  look  at  himself  from  her 
point  of  view,  he  would  not  have  been  so  much 
surprised. 

In  his  late  accident  he  had  received  so  severe  a 
blow  on  the  left  eye  that  that  orb  was  altogether 
shut  up.  As  he  did  not  move,  and  as  the  other 
eye,  with  which  he  gazed  in  supreme  astonish- 
ment at  the  sweet  face  before  him,  happened  to 
be  furthest  from  the  fire,  besides  being  hid  in  the 
shadow  of  his  own  nose,  —  which  was  not  a 
small  one  by  nature,  and  was  a  peculiarly  large 


WILD    M 

•urully  '  IP-  was  fast  ael' 

i/iiiir  \v«  y  and  M 

h  ihr  r< 
iTinir   ll:unr   of    lli<-    tin  up    hr: 

«•  masses  of  h<  r  rich 
thoogbi 

Suj>|M,.-injr     lh;it     },,-    • 

y  on  a   lo^  I  • 

March's  sound  < 

. 

hr  was  \vi.i 
and  \\cii' 

AUS 

•  \Vh\ 


MARCH   AOT>    MART.  293 

"  For  thinkin'  o'  you  !  "  replied  the  bold  youth, 
firmly. 

The  vision  looked  at  him  in  still  greater  aston- 
ishment, opening  her  eyes  slowly  until  they 
seemed  like  two  pellucid  lakelets  of  unfathom- 
able depth  into  which  March  felt  inclined  to 
fling  himself,  clothes  and  all,  and  be  drowned 
comfortably.  She  then  looked  at  the  fire,  then 
at  March  again.  It  was  evident  that  she  had 
not  been  accustomed  to  hold  intercourse  with 
jocular  minds.  Perceiving  this,  March  at  once 
changed  his  tone,  and,  with  a  feeling  of  respect 
which  he  could  not  well  account  for,  said,  rather 
bluntly  — 

"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Mary." 

"  Ay !  did  your  father  give  you  that  name  ?  " 

"  My  father?"  echoed  the  girl,  looking  hastily 
up. 

"  Ay,  did  Dick  give  it  you  ?  " 

"Did  him  tell  you  him's  name  be  Dick?" 
asked  Mary. 

"  Oh !  he's  known  by  another  name  to  you, 
then,  it  would  seem.  But,  Mary,  what  is  nis 
name." 

The  girl  pursed  her  mguth  and  laid  her  finger 
on  it.  Then,  with  a  little  sad  smile,  said  — 

"Him  tell  you  Dick  —  that  be  good  name. 
But  Dick  not  my  father.  My  father  dead." 

The  poor  thing  said  this  so  slowly  and  in  such 

25* 


i.      1 1 

Ig   nj>  \vi  h  a    ll  i 
.  lln-li«'<l  face,  \vhil-'  \\iili  one  of  ! 

; ossed    b: 
'•  l\i     !  !      I  !;m  -lirr  n<nr.      \0    : 

ir[)rL-r,    ;. 
led  M:i 

\\'ild   .Man  : 

: 

inned 

..  u  but    i 

. 

- 
- 

"d. 

:      lllU- 

socalni 


MAECH   TRIES   TO    SLEEP.  295 

disappointed.  In  the  height  of  his  enthusiasm  he 
forgot  that  the  poor  girl  had  as  yet  seen  nothing 
to  draw  out  her  feelings  toward  him  as  his  had 
been  drawn  out  toward  her.  She  had  seen  no 
"  vision,"  except,  indeed,  the  vision  of  a  wretched 
dishevelled  youth,  of  an  abrupt  excitable  tempera- 
ment, with  one  side  of  his  countenance  scratched 
in  a  most  disreputable  manner,  and  the  other 
side  swelled  and  mottled  to  such  an  extent  that 
it  resembled  a  cheap  plum-pudding  with  the 
fruit  unequally  and  sparsely  distributed  over  its 
yellow  surface. 

March  was  mollified,  however,  wThen  the  girl 
suggested  that  his  pillow  seemed  uncomfortable, 
and  rose  to  adjust  it  with  tender  care.  Then  she 
said  —  "  Now  me  bring  blankit.  You  go  sleep. 
Me  sit  here  till  you  sleep,  after  that,  me  go  away. 
If  ye  wants  me,  holler  out.  Me  sleep  in  nixt 
room." 

So  saying,  this  wonderful  creature  flitted  across 
the  cavern  and  vanished,  thereby  revealing  to 
March  the  fact  that  there  was  a  third  cavern  in 
that  place.  Presently  she  returned  with  a  green 
blanket  and  spread  it  over  him,  after  which  rhe 
sat  down  by  the  fire  and  seemed  absorbed  in  her 
private  meditations  while  March  tried  to  sleep. 

But  what  a  night  March  had  of  it !  Whichever 
way  he  turned,  that  vision  was  ever  before  his 
eyes.  When  he  awoke  with  a  start,  there  she 
was,  bending  over  the  fire.  When  he  dreamed, 


296  WILD    M 

stars.    Sometimes  she  was  sm ill ni:  on  hii. 

in  ins?  <M: 

Km    .  her  (irli- 

id  !ir  was  about 

'  soon,  \\lirn  lie  (the 

\ViM  .M  Irnly  changed  ii 

!I»T    li-T    own    tl:irlinir 
:id   to   it.      Slic    never    left    him. 

in    < 

i    IHT    j»! 

. 

. 

. 

nigh 


MARCH'S  WAKING  RECOLLECTIONS.        297 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

The  Cave  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West.  — March  and  Mary  hold 
Pleasant  Intercourse.  —  Dick's  Good  Qualities  enlarged  on.  —  The 
Wild  Man  gives  a  Redskin  a  Strange  Lesson.  — A  Startling  Inter- 
ruption to  Pleasant  Converse. 

WHEN  March  Marston  awoke  the  following 
morning,  and  found  himself  lying  on  a  low  couch 
in  the  mysterious  cavern  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West,  he  experienced  the  curious  sensation,  with 
which  every  one  is  more  or  less  familiar,  of  not 
knowing  where  he  was. 

The  vision  in  leather  which  had  worried  him 
to  such  an  extent  during  the  night,  had  left  him 
in  peace —  as  most  visions  usually  do  —  an  hour 
or  so  before  day-break,  and  as  the  real  vision  had 
not  yet  issued  from  the  inner  chamber  of  the 
cave,  there  was  nothing  familiar  near  him,  when 
he  awoke  to  recall  his  scattered  senses.  H's  first 
effort  to  rise,  however,  quickened  his  memory 
amazingly.  Pains  shot  through  all  his  limbs; 
the  chase,  the  fall,  Dick,  the  cavern,  recurred  to 
him;  nnd  last — but  not  least,  for  it  obliterated 
and  swallowed  up  all  the  rest  —  the  vision  broke 
upon  his  beclouded  brain  and  cleared  his  faculties. 

Looking  curiously  round   the    cavern,  he  ob- 


;mr  —  \\  hat    In*    miLrht    lj 

|»rc- 
••rfiil 

hnn 

id   skull 
inning  at  him  in 

.-kin    ;iml    1 
r   places  ihri- 

ea  of  bears  o 
:   as  of  dt-rr,  :m«l.  ih»- 

.-kull  and  j)«'inl«  i 
•  •Ik. 

.  and  an 

pears,  an 

and 

•is  seats  thr  nielli   I- 


MARCH  MARSTON  IN  THE  CAVE.      299 


March  was  staring  earnestly  at  one  of 
logs  which  lay  close  to  the  ashes  of  the  fire,  try- 
ing to  recall  the  form  that  had  last  occupied  it, 
when  a  rustle  at  the  inner  passage  attracted  his 
attention,  and  next  moment  the  vision  again 
stood  before  him.  It  was,  if  possible,  more  in- 
nocent, and  young,  and  sweet,  than  on  the  previ- 
ous night. 

"  Good  mornin'.  You  very  good  sleep,  me 
hope  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  had  I,  a  capital  sleep,"  cried  March, 
heartily,  holding  out  his  hand  which  the  vision 
grasped  unhesitatingly,  and  shook  with  manly 
vigor. 

"  Bees  you  hongray  ?  " 

"  No,  not  a  bit,"  said  March. 

The  girl  looked  sad  at  this.  "  You  muss  heat," 
she  said,  quickly,  at  the  same  time  raking  to- 
gether the  embers  of  the  fire,  and  blowing  them 
up  into  a  flame,  over  which  she  placed  a  large 
iron  pot  ;  "  Dick  hims  always  heat  weh1  an'  keep 
well.  Once  me  was  be  sick.  Dick  him  say  to 
me,  4  Heat.'  Me  say,  '  No  want  heat.'  Hims 
say,  '  You  muss  heat.'  So  me  try  ;  an',  sure  'nuff, 
get  well  to-morrow." 

March  laughed  at  this  prompt  and  effectual 
remedy  for  disease,  and  said,  "  Well,  I'll  try. 
Perhaps  it  will  cure  me,  especially  if  you  feed 
me." 

Poor  March  saw,  by  the  simplicity  of  his  com- 


.  ' hai    gallantry  and  « 
ik6  tlm> 

!io\v  you  )  be 

. 

.  ail 

\v  IHT  1.  as  he  dc 

trll,   mi-   ]|.)    ' 

•^••'l   .M  irdi,   in  a  some 
M  id. 

"  D; 

• 

;  opinion 
him 

1  hrr  lif.  1  up 

I, — 

i  !   ha!  —  ho  ! 

tur 
a  sl« 

whj 


MARCH  MARSTON  AND  MARY.       301 

thin'  to  eat.  I  really  believe  my  appetite's  comin' 
back  agin." 

Mary  looked  at  March  in  much  concern.  She 
had  once  nursed  the  Wild  Man  through  a  severe 
illness,  and  knew  what  delirium  was,  and  she 
began  to  suspect  that  her  guest  was  beginning  to 
give  way. 

"  Now,  lie  down,"  she  said,  with  an  air  of 
decision  that  was  almost  ludicrous  in  one  so 
youthful.  Yet  March  felt  that  he  must  obey. 
"  Me  will  git  meat  ready.  You  sleep  littil  bit." 

March  shut  his  eyes  at  once ;  but,  the  instant 
that  Mary  turned  to  attend  to  the  iron  kettle,  he 
opened  them,  and  continued  to  gaze  at  the  busy 
little  housewife,  until  she  chanced  to  look  in  his 
direction,  when  he  shut  them  again  quickly,  and 
very  tight.  This  was  done  twice  ;  but  the  third 
time  Mary  caught  him  in  the  act,  and  broke  into 
a  merry  laugh.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
laughed  aloud  since  March  met  her ;  so  he 
laughed  'too,  out  of  sheer  delight  and  sympathy. 

When  March  had  finished  breakfast,  he  tried 
to  get  up,  and  found,  to  his  great  relief  and  satis- 
faction, that  no  bones  were  broken  —  a  fact  of 
which  he  had  stood  in  considerable  doubt — and 
that  his  muscles  were  less  acutely  pained  than 
they  had  been.  Still,  he  was  very  stiff,  and  quite 
unable,  with  any  degree  of  comfort,  to  wall;  across 
the  cave;  so  he  made  up  his  mind  to  lie  there  till 
he  got  well,  —  a  resolution  which,  in  the  pride  of 

26 


.ml    th:i! 

.     ' 
.'li:il. 

k-  .Mary."  hr    saU,  \vhcn    <hc 
.    ihc  inoruiiiir  11. 
dungs. 

,':   UIH»\V  \\  h:it  In-  in:iy  ask 
\vh  .      Hal   i 

iir  toni:' 

' 

••  \\ 

n  a 
lo\\  . 

March  v. 

Id  hurt  ihr 

-d   ho\\ 
\viih 


DICIv'S    GOOD    QUALITIES.  303 

Mary  pressed  her  lips. 

"  Oh!  very  well;  don't  tell  if  it  ain't  right,  by 
no  manner  o'  means.  Do  ye  think  that  Dick 
intends  to  keep  ye  here  always  ?  " 

"  Me  not  know." 

"  Humph  !     An'  you  say  he's  good  to  ye  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  cried  Mary,  with  a  sudden  blaze  of 
animation  on  her  usually  placid  countenance, 
"  him's  good,  very  good  —  gooder  to  me  than 
nobody  else." 

"  Well,  I  could  have  guessed  that,  seem'  that 
nobody  else  has  had  any  thing  to  do  with  ye  but 
him  for  ten  years  past." 

"  But  him's  not  only  good  to  me  —  good  to  ev- 
erybody," continued  the  girl,  with  increasing  ani- 
mation. "  You  not  know  how  good — can't  know." 

"  Certainly  not,"  assented  March ;  "  it  ain't 
possible  to  know,  not  havin'  bin  told ;  but  if 
you'll  tell  me  I'll  listen." 

March  Marston  had  at  last  struck  a  chord  that 
vibrated  intensely  in  the  bosom  of  the  warm- 
hearted child.  She  drew  her  log  closer  to  him 
in  her  eagerness  to  dilate  on  the  goodness  of  her 
adopted  father,  and  began  to  pour  into  his  willing 
ears  such  revelations  of  the  kind  and  noble  deeds 
that  he  had  done,  that  March  was  fired  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  began  to  regard  his  friend  Lick  in  the 
light  of  a  demigod.  Greatheart,  in  the  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  seemed  most  like  him,  he  thought, 
only  Dick  seemed  grander,  which  was  a  natural 


l>un\;m  »lrv\v  1: 
.  hile  M  i!  \  and  March  i, 

. 

11  our  OO 

littl( 

i,  :ili(i    : 

• 

I     tllf   fil- 

. 

torn 


MARY'S  STORIES  ABOUT  DICK.  305 

blow  —  a  feat  which  no  one  had  ever  done,  or 
had  ever  heard  of  as  being  done,  from  the  d 
of  the  first  Indian  to  that  hour. 

Many  such  stories  did  Mary  relate  to  the  pool- 
in  valid,  who  bore  his  sufferings  with  exemplary 
patience  and  fortitude,  and  listened  with  unflag- 
ging interest ;  but  of  all  the  stories  she  told,  none 
seemed  to  afford  her  so  much  pleasure  in  the 
telling  as  the  following :  — 

One  day  Dick  went  out  to  hunt  buffaloes,  on 
his  big  horse,  for  he  had  several  steeds,  one  or 
other  of  which  he  rode  according  to  fancy ;  but 
he  always  mounted  the  big  black  one  when  he 
went  after  the  buffalo  or  to  war.  Mary  here 
explained  very  carefully,  that  Dick  never  went  to 
war  on  his  own  account,  that  he  was  really  a 
man  of  peace,  but  that,  when  he  saw  oppression 
and  cruelty,  his  blood  boiled  within  him  at  such 
a  rate  that  he  almost  went  mad,  and  often,  under 
the  excitement  of  hot  indignation,  would  he  dash 
into  the  midst  of  a  band  of  savages  and  scatter 
them  right  and  left,  like  autumn  leaves. 

Well;  as  he  was  riding  along  among  the  moun- 
tains, near  the  banks  of  a  broad  stream,  and  not 
far  from  the  edge  of  the  great  prairie,  he  came 
suddenly  on  an  object  that  caused  his  eyes  to 
glare  and  his  teeth  to  grind  ;  for  there,  under  the 
shade  of  a  few  branches,  with  a  pot  of  water  by 
her  side,  sat  an  old  Indian  woman.  Dick  did 
not  need  to  ask  what  she  was  doing  there.  He 

26* 


A-  the  ways    (,»f   the    : 

. 

her 

hill.  left 

lirr  there   to  die.      '1'iie    j 

-  a  bnrd< 
the  UB    of  her   tribe  — 

.:   \ietim 

her 

iiin   the 
was   kin 

ieh. 
. 
i    \va>    < 

1  in 

s    of    ti 

•  1  — 

. 
. 


DICK   AND    THE   OLD   INDIAN   WOMAN.         307 

and  blind,  for  she  evinced  no  knowledge  of  his 
presence.  She  was  reaching  out  her  skinny  arm 
to  place  another  stick  upon  the  sinking  fire  at 
the  time,  for  it  was  a  sharp  and  cold,  though  a 
bright  and  sunny  autumn  day.  Dick  stopped 
his  horse,  crushed  his  teeth  together,  and  sat  for 
a  few  moments  regarding  her  intently. 

Either  the  firewood  had  originally  been  placed 
too  far  away  from  the  old  woman's  hand,  or  she 
had  shifted  her  position,  for  she  could  not  reach 
it.  Once  and  again  she  made  the  effort  —  she 
stretched  out  her  withered  arm  and  succeeded  in 
just  touching  the  end  of  one  of  the  pieces  of 
wood,  but  could  not  grasp  it.  She  pawed  it 
once  or  twice,  and  then  gave  up  the  attempt 
with  a  little  sigh.  Drawing  herself  slowly  to- 
gether, she  gathered  up  the  rabbit-skin  blanket 
which  rested  on  her  shoulders  and  attempted 
feebly  to  fold  it  across  her  chest.  Then  she 
slowly  dropped  her  white  head,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  calm  resignation  on  her  old  wrinkled 
visage. 

Dick's  great  heart  almost  burst  with  conflict- 
ing emotion.  The  wrath  that  welled  up  as  he 
thought  of  the  deserters  was  met  by  a  gush  of 
tender  pity  as  he  gazed  through  blinding  tears 
on  the  deserted.  With  a  fling  that  caused  his 
stout  war-horse  to  stagger,  he  leaped  to  the 
ground,  tore  open  the  breast  of  his  hunting-shirt, 
and,  sitting  down  beside  the  old  woman,  placed 
her  cold  hand  in  his  bosom. 


WILD    MAN    or    KB 

- 

pn  -.Hid 

lh<  ,1   IHT  u  fa 

>mlv  t!i  friend,  tint  ihe  j 

:utli 
i    so    much    in   n 

. 
!i  liis  loi 

.       ;h  which  her 

A  jLr' 

r,  he's  // 
a  8( 

In   liot    ! 


DICK    AND    THE    OLD    INDIAN    WOMAN.         309 

down  beside  the  old  woman  and  made  her  par- 
take of  it. 

"  Is  it  long  since  they  left  ye,  mother  ?  "  he- 
said,  after  she  had  swallowed  a  little. 

The  old  woman  pondered  for  a  few  seconds. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  not  long.  Only  one  sun 
has  gone  down  since  my  son  left  me."  Then 
she  added,  in  a  sad  tone,  "  I  loved  him.  He  is 
a  great  warrior  —  a  brave  chief — and  he  loved 
me  too.  But  he  had  to  leave  me.  I  am  old 
and  useless.  It  is  my  fate." 

"  Describe  your  son  to  me,"  said  Dick,  ab- 
ruptly. 

"  He  is  tall  and  straight  as  the  poplar,"  began 
the  old  creature,  while  a  look  of  pride  played 
for  a  moment  on  her  withered  countenance. 
"His  shoulders  are  broad  and  his  limbs  are  supple. 
He  can  run  and  leap  like  the  deer,  but  not  so 
well  as  he  once  could.  Gray  hairs  are  now 
mingling  with  the  black " 

"  Has  he  any  mark  by  which  I  could  find  him 
out  ?  "  interrupted  Dick,  impatiently. 

"  He  has  a  deep  cut  over  his  right  eye,"  re- 
turned the  woman  ;  "  but  stay,"  she  added,  in 
some  alarm,  "  you  would  not  harm  my  son,  you 
are  not  an  enemy  ?  " 

"  No,  I  would  not ;  I  would  do  him  good. 
Which  way  did  they  go  ?  " 

"  To  the  prairie  —  to  the  rising  sun." 

Dick  at  once  arose,  placed  the  kettle  of  soup 


310 

•  mini's   - 

llir       I 
.    and    fr 
shi> 

d,  ht- 
^id  da.-hrd  ;i 
'or  his  li 

: 

' 

|)r:iiri»-,  v.  iii 

; 

6f  in  srarrh  of  tl 

• 

se  — 

'•pinu  o\  ihr  pl:i ; 


DICK    DISCOVERS   THE   REDSKIN.  311 

They  had  encamped  for  the  night,  and  \\vrn 
preparing  their  evening  meal ;  but  when  they 
saw  the  solitary  horseman  on  the  far-off  horizon, 
the  braves  and  old  men  went  to  the  verge  of  the 
camp  to  watch  him.  On  he  came,  bounding  over 
the  turf  like  the  prong-horned  antelope,  turning 
neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left,  but 
taking  every  thing  that  intercepted  him  in  a  flying 
leap,  and  bearing  down  on  the  camp  as  an  arrow 
flies  from  the  bow. 

Although  a  single  horseman  is  not  usually  an 
object  of  terror  to  a  band  of  Indians,  these  braves 
soon  began  to  evince  by  their  looks  that  they  did 
not  feel  easy  in  regard  to  this  one.  As  he  drew 
near  they  recognized  him  ;  for  Dick  had  on  a 
former  occasion  given  this  particular  tribe  a  taste 
of  his  prowess.  Each  man  instantly  rushed  to  his 
weapons  and  horse  ;  but  the  horses  had  been 
turned  out  to  graze,  and  could  not  be  easily 
caught.  Before  they  secured  their  weapons  Dick 
was  in  the  midst  of  them.  With  an  eagle  glance 
he  singled  out  the  chief  with  the  cut  over  his  right 
eye,  and  rode  between  him  and  his  tent.  The 
Indian,  seeing  that  he  was  cut  off  from  his 
weapons,  darted  swiftly  out  upon  the  plain,  and 
made  for  a  clump  of  stunted  trees,  hoping  to  find 
shelter  until  his  comrades  could  come  to  his 
rescue.  But  Dick  was  there  before  him,  and  rode 
down  upon  him  in  such  a  way  that  he  was  corn- 


hi* 

6    him    into    the  j>ar- 
uii —  :i  hravr  chi'T.     A|»j 

<li«'   than   to   In-   huil'r.l     \\\\\^ 

'ace  as  li> 

is  of   hi: 

i-x  (1  ii  -age 

. 

him 

.nip, 

. 
. 


DICK'S   LESSON   TO    THE   REDSKIX.  313 

Whatever  astonishment  the  Indian  felt  at  this 
singular  treatment,  or  whatever  his  curiosity  as 
to  the  result  of  it  all,  his  countenance  expressed 
nothing  but  calm  scorn  and  defiance.  He  was 
evidently  working  himself  into  that  state  of  mind 
which  these  redskin  warriors  endeavor  to  assume 
when  they  are  captured  and  taken  to  the  stake  and 
the  torture,  there  to  prove  their  title  to  the  name 
of  brave  by  enduring  the  most  inconceivable 
agonies  with  stoical  indifference,  or  there  to 
bring  discredit  on  their  tribe,  infamy  on  their 
name,  and  joy  to  their  enemies,  by  breaking 
down  under  the  infliction  of  tortures,  at  the  bare 
mention  of  which  humanity  shudders. 

For  some  time  they  maintained  the  same  head- 
long speed.  When,  however,  all  danger  of  pursuit 
was  over,  Dick  drew  rein,  and  proceeded  more 
leisurely,  in  order  to  relieve  his  now  jaded  steed. 
But  that  was  a  steed  of  the  true  metal.  It  pos- 
sessed that  generous  spirit  which  would  have 
induced  it  willingly  to  exert  itself  even  to  the 
death.  Its  owner  might  have  ridden  it  till  it  fell 
prostrate  and  dying  on  the  plain,  but  he  could 
not  have  ridden  it  to  the  point  of  refusing  to 
advance  because  of  exhaustion.  He  was  merciful 
to  it,  and  went  slowly  during  the  night;  but 
he  did  not  come  to  a  final  halt  until  the  rising 
sun  found  him  close  to  the  camp  of  the  dying 
woman. 

The  Indian  now  for  thr  first  time  began  partly 


31  1 

to  guess  the  object  of  h  Kg   l>«-rn  brought 

there,  and    steeled   his    heart  to   bear    v 

nounted,  and  graspingthe  Indian  with 
a  force    that  showed  him  how  helpl.  >uld 

be  in  a  i    -truggle  should  he  vent  in 

led   him    forward,  and    placed   him  a 
lev.  f  his  dying  i: 

ULT  ju>t  as  she  h 

the  lire  had  gone  out,  and  she  thMnbl-  .tly 

ilx<it  which  she  had  sought  to  pull 
round    her   v 

himself  ing  put  ft 

the  lire,  and  proceeded  to  rekind! 

doing  so,  he  to 

will  m  to  a  tree  t 

stoo  a  which  the  old 

1111(1 

him  he  could  sit  on  the.^ro 

t  he  <  MiKl 

the 

1-    — .          He      belir 

in^ 

i  1  the  thought  filled  him 
\\  ith  ho 

n  difficul'  M   h«'   knew   th:r 

•  Id  not  see  the  ri-hing;  but  to  be 

ii^ht     there    and 
ble  dooi:  :ninute 


DICK'S   LESSON    TO   THE   REDSKIN.  315 

horrible  details  on  the  mother  whom  he  had 
once  loved  so  tenderly,  was  maddening  to  think 
of.  All  the  dread  tortures  that  had  yet  been 
invented  and  practised  on  warriors  must  have 
seemed  to  him  as  nothing  compared  with  this 
awful  device  of  the  pale-face,  on  whom  he  now 
glared  with  the  eyes  of  implacable  hate  and 
ferocity. 

"  Will  the  pale-face,"  he  said,  fiercely,  "  cast 
me  loose,  and  meet  me  hand  to  hand  in  a  fair 
fight?  Surely,"  he  added,  changing  his  tone  to 
one  of  ineffable  scorn,  "  the  pale-face  is  not  weak, 
he  is  not  a  small  man,  that  he  should  fear  a  chief 
like  Bighorn." 

"  Hark'ee !  Bighorn,"  said  Dick,  striding  up  to 
him,  and  laying  the  cold  edge  of  his  hatchet  on 
the  Indian's  forehead ;  "  if  you  speak  another 
word  above  yer  breath,  the  pale-face  will  cleave 
ye  to  the  chin." 

There  was  something  so  thoroughly  resolute 
in  Dick's  voice  that  the  Indian  was  cowed 
effectually. 

The  fire  was  soon  lighted,  and  Dick  chafed 
and  warmed  the  limbs  of  the  old  woman  until  he 
brought  back  the  vital  spark.  Then  he  set  on 
the  kettle  to  boil.  While  a  new  mess  was  pre- 
paring, he  went  into  the  wood,  and,  with  lusty 
blows,  brought  down  the  trees  and  cut  them  inlo 
huge  billets,  which  he  piled  upon  the  fire  until  it 
roared  again,  and  the  heart  of  the  feeble  cretitme 


. 

began  to  b» 

vigor.     This  clow.  1: 

it  >h«'  mi^ht  ir«lt    thr  full 

of  1:  i-  \\hich 

••,M>«'d  down  his  gooc  »oee 

i  he  cooked  an  i 

• 

•ill   she  should  die;         1  lie 
_rns  of  death  too 

All  ;1. 

•ill    thr    1. 

same  \ 

k  as 

the 
tried   to  ga/ 

. 
!KT  son  sat 

iiini- 

I 

. 


DICK'S   LESSON   TO   THE   REDSKIN.  317 

give  him  some  food,  but  Dick  said,  sternly, — 
"  I'll  give  ye  food  before  ye  die,  if  ye  keep  quiet" 

At  last,  about  nightfall  of  the  second  day,  the 
sands  of  life  began  to  run  slowly.  Dick  saw 
that  the  old  woman's  end  was  approaching,  so 
he  rose,  and,  going  toward  her  son,  he  placed 
food  before  him.  He  devoured  it  ravenously. 
Then  he  gave  him  drink,  and,  loosing  him,  led 
him  to  the  fire,  where  he  speedily  recovered  his 
wonted  heat  and  energy.  After  that,  Dick  led 
him  to  his  mother's  side  and  made  him  kneel. 

"  Mother,"  said  Dick,  "  can  you  see  and  hear 
me?" 

"  Ay,  but  you  are  not  my  son,"  said  the  dying 
woman,  faintly.  "  You  are  a  pale-face  —  you  are 
very  good  —  but  you  are  not  my  son." 

"  True,  mother ;  but  see,  I  have  brought  your 
son  back  to  you !  Lay  your  hand  on  her  fore- 
head," he  added,  in  that  low,  stern  undertone 
which  he  had  used  throughout  to  Bighorn,  who 
could  not  but  obey,  "  stroke  her  head,  look  in  her 
eyes,  and  speak  to  her." 

The  redman  did  not  require  to  be  told  now. 
A  natural  impulse  led  him  to  do  as  he  was  bid. 
The  instant  the  tones  of  his  voice  struck  her  ear, 
the  old  woman  seemed  to  awaken  with  a  start ; 
she  looked  up  eagerly,  caught  the  hand  that 
touched  her  forehead,  and,  passing  her  own  thin 
hand  up  to  the  Indian's  face,  felt  the  scar  over 
his  eye,  as  if  to  render  herself  doubly  sure. 

27* 


THE  WILD  M.\  IE   WEST. 

he  grasped    the  hand    a^ain   in    both  of 
-,    and,   taUni:   n    undrr    ihr    Nai         .          saed 

thrrr. 

Din  th  it  hurst  of  unexpr<  :<  d  j«»\   hastrnrd  the 
fall  cw  grains  of  sand.     1 

inimiTrs  longer  they  wutdird   h-  e  hreath 

d  went  more  and  more  feebly.     Th'-n  it 

1    her  eyes. 

lease  the  band  of   her  son. 
;,liy   iii   loo.-. 

•  •  which  was  stronger  even  thai* 
•h. 

r  all  was  OV< 

l«-d    him    to  \vhi(  li  him 

agii  <r  a  grave  in  thr  1,  in 

\\hi<  an  \\  illi 

irr.       Iia\;iiLr   c  o'.rr    ; 

;    saddlrd    his    horse, 
i«'iing savage.  \\  i 
he  one*-  moi' 
•• 

-   !1    thr 

thin 

•   hi'  did  and  Baid 


MARY   AND    THE    SECRET.  319 

Saying  this,  Dick  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
very  slowly  into  the  forest,  leaving  the  redman 
standing  by  the  side  of  his  mother's  grave. 

After  Mary  had  concluded  this  story,  which,  we 
may  remark,  she  related  with  much  fewer  com- 
ments than  we  have  seen  fit  to  pass  upon  it,  she 
and  March  looked  at  each  other  for  a  long  time 
in  silence.  Then  March  suddenly  exclaimed,  — 

"  He's  a  splendid  fellow,  —  Dick!  " 

Mary,  both  by  looks  and  words,  highly  ap- 
proved of  this  opinion.  "  And  yet,"  said  she, 
somewhat  abstractedly,  "  this  bees  the  man  who 
peepils  call " 

Mary  pursed  her  lips  suddenly. 

"  Call  what  ?  "  inquired  March,  quickly. 

"  Wicked,  wild,  bad  man,"  replied  Mary,  who, 
fortunately,  could  say  all  this  with  perfect  truth 
without  betraying  her  secret.  In  fact,  poor  Mary 
had  never  had  a  secret  confided  to  her  before,  and 
having  been  told  by  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West 
that  she  was  on  no  account  to  reveal  his  real  title 
to  their  guest,  she  was  in  the  utmost  perplexity 
lest  it  should  slip  out  unawares. 

"  Mary,"  said  March,  who  was  always  stum- 
bling upon  the  verge  of  the  truth  in  a  most  unac- 
countable way,  without  actually  getting  hold  of 
it,  "  have  you  ever  seen  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  gay  smile. 


.'      Well    now,  that's  od 
much  I  should  like  to  see  hi1  :<•!!  you 

h,  one  o: 
was  to  see  him.      \\ 

"  Like  Dir  ly. 

Dick!"    echoed     March    in     <ur; 
"\v!  -  \vhat  Dick  said  himself,  ;m<: 

ast  be  v« 

/ho  seems  to  be  tin*  kin< 
i  man  that  <  ,c  to  trap  in 

us." 

k*  Whal  dot  ll«  Wild  Mans 

of  the  Wo:  ry. 

"  That  he's  • 

. 

u  ( 

Nfffl  —  i 

•oked  so  inctlab! 
tlia:  yirue 

:hr  Ian-  . 

rain    for 

of  a  g\\  ich 

.long  th- 


A    STRANGE   OCCURRENCE.  321 

like  muttering  thunder.  It  was  followed  by  a  yell 
that  caused  Mary  to  start  up  with  a  look  of  horror 
"and  rush  out  of  the  cave,  leaving  the  invalid  in  a 
most  distressing  state  of  uncertainty  as  to  what 
he  should  do,  and  in  no  little  anxiety  as  to  what 
would  happen  next. 


THE    WILD    MAN    OP 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Mysteries  of  the  Cave  explained.  —  Ingenious  Devices  of  the 
Man.  —  March  and  Mary  besieged.  —  The  Rfrflikint  prooad 
ike  themselves  At  Home  in  the  Cavern. 

KE  are  few  tliinir-  in   this  world  which  are 

;it  mysterioi.  \ye  by  a 

•  es,  more  or 

:\nd  we  hold  it  to  be 

:m  unfair  and  a  \<TV  pa!" 

an  auth  rep- 

0  in  unii 

'I'll-  •  L;  leave  \< 

last 

!      Tin-   I 
-ed  by  a  savage 
harging  his  gun.  it   foll< 

i  and  gi' 

ho\\  1. 

this  was  a  ho\. 

16  \\-ar-\\ 

man.     "i'haT  it  \\ 


DICK   AX   OBJECT   OF   CURIOSITY.  323 

prise  was  evident,  at  least  to  Mary,  who  knew 
the  mysteries  of  the  place. 

In  order  to  make  this  plain  without  further 
circumlocution,  we  may  as  well  inform  the  rejid.-r 
at  once  that  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  (perhaps 
we  should  call  him  Dick,  in  deference  to  March 
Marston's  ignorance  of  his  real  character  at  this 
time)  was  not  only  a  subject  of  terror  to  the 
Indians  inhabiting  this  region  of  the  earth  at 
that  particular  era  in  the  world's  history,  but 
also  a  subject  of  intense  curiosity.  Hence,  for 
many  years  past  it  had  been  an  object  of  ambi- 
tion, on  the  part  of  the  more  courageous  of  the 
Indian  warriors,  to  trace  this  terrible  creature  to 
his  familiar  haunts,  and  "  beard  the  lion  in  his 
den." 

Dick  soon  became  fully  aware  of  this,  and,  not 
being  a  mysterious  monster  or  demon,  but  a 
mere  mortal  (although,  doubtless,  a  singularly 
huge  and  eccentric  one),  it  behoved  him  to  frus- 
trate the  amiable  intentions  of  his  savage  tor- 
mentors. In  order  to  effect  this,  he  first  of  all 
selected,  as  we  have  seen,  a  gloomy,  secluded, 
and  almost  inaccessible  spot  among  the  Rocky 
Mountains  as  his  residence,  which  he  made  a 
point  of  quitting  and  returning  to  only  in  the 
dark  hours  of  night  or  early  morning,  so  far  as 
was  practicable. 

Still  further  to  bewilder  the  savages,  —  against 
\vhom  he  bore  no  grudge,  and  to  avoid  encoun- 


beat 

h'T 
times   in   the   huniinLT-.-liirt  and  raj)  » 

;  i  iost  efforts,  he  occ;i 

rh  so  exasperated   h 

i  such  occasions,  he   be< 
gardless  of  his  1  i  rushing  upon  any  « 

—would 

riirht    through   their 

: 

the 

and    ho  is   a 

i:d  and  j 

t    lie    c<  i    in 

. 
unless  . 

lilt! 


DICK'S    CHARGER. 

scalp-locks  and  fringes  of  his  dress,  and  the  wild 
masses  of  his  long  hair.  He  rode,  as  we  have  cl 
where  mentioned,  a  magnificent  charger,  which 
he  had  purchased  in  Mexico,  and  whose  sire,  no 
doubt,  had  been  one  of  those  noble  barbs  which 
bore  the  cavaliers  of  Spain  to  the  conquest  of  the 
New  World.  The  mane  and  tail  of  this  animal, 
having  never  been  cut,  were  of  immense  length, 
and,  when  violently  agitated,  seemed  to  envelop 
horse  and  man.  Altogether,  the  tout  ensemble  of 
Dick  and  his  charger  on  any  of  the  rencontres 
above  referred  to,  was  sufficiently  awful,  and  as 
he  was  seldom  seen  near  at  hand,  except  in  a 
condition  of  blazing  fury,  there  is  little  wonder 
that,  in  the  process  of  time,  he  became  celebrated 
throughout  the  country  as  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West. 

The  white  trappers,  too,  were  somewhat  curious 
to  know  something  about  this  mysterious  brother ; 
but  he  shunned  them  even  more  determinedly 
than  he  did  the  Indians,  though,  of  course,  he 
never  fought  with  them,  seeing  that  they  did  not 
attempt  to  murder  him  or  interfere  with  his 
movements  as  the  savages  did.  But  there  were 
one  or  two  bolder  or  more  inquisitive  than  their 
comrades,  who  dogged  the  Wild  Man,  and 
tried  to  force  themselves  upon  him.  These  he 
caught  and  thrashed  soundly,  after  the  fashion 
of  a  schoolmaster  with  a  refractory  boy,  and 
turned  them  adrift  with  a  warning  thenceforth 

28 


la-i  the  Indians 
him  down  as  a  "great  inc.. 
-  impossible 

trappers  shook    their    heads    ;incl    UHK  h<-d    thrir 
If  M-nitirantly,  as  if  to  h, 

:d. 

Tin;  i  ooone  -  IT  in 

a  great  measure  from  am 

;)}><T3,  began  to  be  circulated  and  exag- 
aine  a  greater   i 
he  savages,  who  natu 
1    the    >pirit    in    \vhie!i    i 
fur'>  is  much  as 

\er  been  1660  or 
:'  in   th« 

i-ain ! 

traversed  this  rot 

to  have  given  IF.  taf  in  tli 

really 
human   mi;  m   an<l  ::e,  and  1. 

is,  at  ai.  to  the 

\no\v  this  \\rll.      i 
thrir  hearers 

_:h    Dick 
not  entirely  uni 


DICK'S    INGENIOUS   PRECAUTK 

from  distant  hunting-grounds  used  to  go  there, 
and,  not  knowing  much  about  the  Wild  Man  of 
the  West,  did  not  believe  in  him  ;  even  ventured 
to  go  in  search  of  him,  and,  on  more  than  one 
occasion,  almost  caught  him  asleep  in  his  cave. 
Having  an  ingenious  turn  of  mind,  and  being 
somewhat  fanciful,  he  devised  a  curious  plan  to 
deceive  the  savages  and  warn  him  of  their  ap- 
proach. 

By  means  of  an  axe  and  a#  knife,  he  carved  a 
representation  of  his  own  head,  and  covered  it 
with  hair  by  means  of  the  tail  of  one  of  his  light- 
colored  horses,  which  he  docked  for  that  purpose. 
(His  steeds,  by  the  way,  occupied  another  cham- 
ber of  the  cavern  in  which  he  dwelt.)  The  head 
thus  formed,  he  planted  behind  a  bush  that  grew 
on  the  ledge  of  rock  about  two  yards  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  cliff  of  the  amphitheatre  outside,  and 
directly  opposite  to  the  entrance  to  it.  The  cave, 
it  will  be  remembered,  was  on  the  right  of  that 
entrance.  Thus,  the  first  thing  the  savage  be- 
held, on  prowling  up  to  the  opening  of  the  amphi- 
theatre, was  Dick's  image  peeping  at  him  over 
the  bush  opposite.  Of  course  the  instantaneous 
result  was  the  firing  of  a  shot  or  the  discharge  of 
an  arrow,  which,  the  Indians  being  excellent 
marksmen,  invariably  alighted  on  the  bridge  of 
Dick's  nose,  or  in  the  centre  of  his  forehead,  or 
in  one  or  other  of  his  eyes.  As  the  head  \\  as 
balanced  on  the  front  edge  of  a  deep  narrow  hole 


1  to  be  i  \v:i-   in 

knocked  in-  iiole  by  the   : 

la  the  supposed  fa 

i  tin-  yell  \vhirh  ii 
to 

h  except  a  small  der|>  h<>. 
11  to  secrete  even  a  little  m:i 
6  of  thr t  ion  of  sii 

•  \v. 

When  B 
.  :i  large 

k;!l.      ! 

•tlines<  :. 

. 

some  eastern  CO' 

icninir  t« 

on  :  \vas 

much  i: 

. 


DICK'S    INGENIOUS    PRECAUTIONS. 

demons  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Dick  came  at 
last  to  know  exactly  what  state  of  things  he  would 
find  outside.  At  the  first  burst  of  discord  ihe 
savages,  however  numerous,  took  to  their  heel-, 
and  when  Dick  emerged  from  his  cave,  they  \\ 
always  within  a  yard  or  two  of  the  entrance  to  the 
amphitheatre,  every  man  with  outstretched  arms, 
sloped  forward  at  the  acutest  possible  angle  with 
the  ground,  rushing  on  the  wings  of  terror  in  a 
flight  of  unparalleled  precipitancy. 

To  pour  the  charge  of  small  shot  down  into 
the  centre  of  the  flying  mass  was  the  work  of  a 
moment ;  to  mount  his  unsaddled  charger,  and 
dash  down  the  steep  rugged  path  with  a  clatter 
equal  to  that  of  half  a  squadron  of  dragoons,  was 
the  work  of  two  minutes  more.  To  pull  up  sud- 
denly, when  he  had  terrified  the  spirits  of  the 
intruders  wellnigh  out  of  their  bodies,  return 
slowly  to  his  rude  domicile,  reload  his  blunder- 
buss, and  retire  to  rest  with  a  grim  smile  on  his 
bearded  mouth,  and  a  lurking  expression  of  fun 
in  his  big  blue  eyes,  as  he  drew  his  blanket  over 
him,  was  the  usual  termination  of  such  a  scene. 

But  this  was  not  all.  Dick,  like  a  wise  man, 
had  prepared  for  the  worst.  In  the  event  of  the 
Indians  ever  getting  the  length  of  the  interior  of 
his  den,  there  were  other  contrivances  ready  for 
them ;  chief  among  which  was  a  large  cistern  or 
tank  of  water,  directly  over  the  fireplace,  the 
front  of  which  was  movable,  and  could  be  pulled 

28* 


\\IM>   MAN    OF   TI1E   WB8T. 

of  a  cor 

all, —  naim-ly,  the  th 
1  to  as  being  M 

By  pull  cord,  the  result  —  instantaii' 

hideous  —  would    be  that  a  deluge  <> 
Irown   the  fire  black  out,  till   th. 
\vith  hot  suffocating  steam  and  ashes,  and  11 
the  floor. 

,<lcd  whrii  he 
is  a  problem  \vhieh  I ' 
g  a  mere  man  and  n  rly 

•  >uld    ea-ily  1. 
ipe  :iud  .  !iut 

•uld 

he  pre .-« 

the 

re   ih«-    i  ass, 

small  cannon  —  the  ca.- 
ir  was  despe  •!   their  « 

i    t  he  savages  would  go 

rn.     \"ain  h. 

He  h  ry,  long  ago, 

how  to  act  i 

that  tin-re  V 
four  Indian  warriors  out 


MARCH  AND  MARY  BESIEGKD.       331 

behind  which  the  head  had  disappeared,  and  that 
they  would  very  soon  find  out  the  cave. 

"  That's  not  pleasant  news,  Mary,"  said  March, 
starting  up  in  spite  of  pain  and  giddiness  ;  "  you 
seem  to  take  it  very  easy !  " 

"  Com,  quick,"  said  she,  seizing  March  by  the 
hand  ;  "  com  with  me." 

March  said,  mentally,  that  he  would  go  with 
her  into  the  jaws  of  death,  if  need  be ;  but  he 
followed  up  the  mental  speech  with  the  audible 
remark,  that  he  had  better  take  some  weapon 
with  him. 

"  No,  no  ;  com !  Me  git  you  spear,  hatchet 
very  quick  ;  but,  com." 

So  saying,  she  dragged,  rather  than  conducted, 
March  to  the  little  opening  which  led  into  her 
dormitory.  He  had  to  stoop  on  entering;  and 
great  was  his  amazement  on  finding  himself  on 
the  brink  of  a  black  yawning  gulf,  that  seemed 
to  descend  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  The 
end  of  a  narrow  plank  rested  on  the  edge  of  this 
gulf,  and  appeared  to  bridge  it  over,  but  the 
other  end  of  the  plank,  and  all  beyond,  were  lost 
in  impenetrable  darkness. 

"  Com  after  me,"  said  Mary,  passing  rapidly 
across  the  gulf  and  disappearing  —  absolutely 
like  a  vision. 

March  hesitated.  He  tried  to  steady  his  some- 
what giddy  head,  but  the  single  word  "  Com  " 
issuing  from  darkness  in  a  very  commanding 


. 

;>oint.      He  >\:]<j'. 
Is,  and    : 

iul  of  the    }> 
pected. 
I  will    com  agin,"  said  Mary, 

Th»'  \  iew  bad  WEI  a  fwy  dim-rent  1! 

v  forward.     As   he   slot  .  «>n  the 

'  The  yawiiniir  Lrt; 

:i     h»'    ha 

'buss,  also  with  JM 
i    a  bag  containing 

!,    l>rii>liiiii^    ; 
her   eoi  urther    i 

. 

poor  fel  act,  h«- 

i  inrpas.- 

indu 

;>lank  iuu)  tli  al  passar 

to    i 
turned  abnr 


THE  INDIANS  ENTER  THE  C'.V        333 

bility  of  any  one  on  the  other  side  of  the  gulf 
being  able  to  see  into  it.  Indeed,  a  light  in  it 
was  not  visible  from  that  point  of  view,  and 
their  voices  could  not  be  heard  unless  they  spoke 
loudly. 

Just  as  the  plank  was  withdrawn,  the  Indians 
discovered  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  two  watchers  beheld  a  painted  sav- 
age peep  in  at  the  opening  of  the  centre  cave. 
Seeing  that  it  was  empty,  and  observing  at  a 
glance  the  opening  into  the  inner  cave,  he  drew 
back  quickly.  A  minute  after,  the  four  Indians 
darted  across,  and  got  out  of  range  of  that 
opening,  evidently  fearing  that  some  one  was 
there.  They  flitted  past  so  quickly,  yet  noise- 
lessly, that  they  appeared  more  like  shadows  than 
real  men. 

Presently  one  of  them  stepped  full  in  front  of 
the  opening  with  a  bow  and  arrow  in  his  hand. 
The  light  of  the  fire  was  strong.  March  saw 
him  raise  the  bow,  and  had  just  time  to  draw 
back  when  an  arrow  whizzed  past  him,  and  was 
broken  to  pieces  on  the  rock  behind  his  back. 
Instantly  after  the  echoes  of  the  place  burst 
forth  as  a  shot  was  fired  in  the  same  direction. 
Having  thus  made  sure  that  the  way  was  clear, 
the  boldest  of  the  savages  entered  with  a  blazing 
pine-knot  held  high  above  his  head  —  the  others 
following  with  bows  ready,  and  arrows  fitted  to 
the  string. 


On  reaching  the  edge  of  the  yawning  eh 

the  Ion-must  savage  held  the  tore  h  over  it,  and 
they  all  gazed  in  <ilrnrr  in 
depths.      Sa  thai    it   was   im)>a-sa: 

consulted    for  a  few  minutes,  and   thm,  q 
rrntlv  coming  to  the  conclusion   that    tin*   }». 

[etmnad   to   tin-  middle 

:  1  bri>:in  to  niniinage  and  toss  about  tin - 

1  th(»re. 
"Bring  thr  riilr,"  \\hNpeied  Biarch. 

>  at  a  shot  a  w  >it. ' 

"No,"    Mary    replied,    lirnily.       »  \\ "hy 

blood  .'        Ti; 

y  was  right;  but  a  circumst; 
\vhirh   caused   them   to   go   away  soon 
r  she  or  t  !  anticipated 


DICK'S    RIDL   TO    IJIJi    11ESCUE. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

A  Gallop  to  the  Rescue.  —  A  Discovery.  —  Right-about  Face.  —  A 
Disagreeable  Surprise  and  a  Sudden  Ejection.  —  A  Calm  after  the 
Storm.  —  Mary  a  Huntress.  —  Dick's  Story  of  the  Murdered 
Trapper. 

WHEN  Dick,  alias  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West, 
left  his  cave,  as  narrated  in  a  previous  chapter, 
and  galloped  away  with  reckless  speed  to  afford 
the  aid  of  his  stout  right  arm  to  his  friends  in 
the  Mountain  Fort,  —  for  he  counted  them 
friends,  although  they  little  knew  it,  —  he  felt 
that  if  he  was  to  be  of  any  use  he  must  travel 
over  the  country  as  he  had  never  travelled  before, 
except  once,  when  he  had  to  fly  for  his  life  before 
five  hundred  Pawnee  warriors. 

It  was  a  grand  sight  to  behold  that  Herculean 
backwoodsman  on  his  noble  steed,  which  seemed 
so  well  proportioned  to  its  rider  that  it  carried 
him  as  if  he  were  but  a  boy,  flying  over  the 
country  on  this  brotherly  errand.  Mile  after  mile 
was  passed,  not  indeed  at  full  speed,  for  that 
would  have  broken  the  good  horse  down  long 
before  the  goal  was  reached,  but  at  a  bowling 
gallop,  taking  bogs,  and  rocks,  and  fallen  trees, 
and  watercourses,  with  an  elastic  bound  that 


Mirplus 
rgy. 

Dick    pattrd    thr  horsed 

1   \\ith   a  asure  aiul  a 

treat    them 
wild,  Ion*:,  C 

QgS. 

unusually  \\ild-l 
s  great  size  and  ma- 

I  -  hr:id  i 

6  a  lull: 
thiiiL's  | 

it,  in  a  . 

said, 

.  airain. 

was 


DICK   MAKES    A    SUDDEN   HALT.  337 

dressed  to  itself,  for  it  only  put  back  one  ear  and 
kept  the  other  forward. 

"  Now,  lass,"  said  Dick,  firmly  (both  ears  went 
full  back  at  that  sound  and  remained  there), 
"  take  it  easy  ;  don't  exert  yerself  over  much,  it 
an't  no  use,  a  short  pace  or  two,  and  —  so." 

The  horse  went  full  swing  over  a  roaring 
watercourse  as  he  spoke,  and  alighted  safe  on 
the  opposite  bank,  but  the  gravelly  soil  was 
treacherous ;  it  gave  way,  and  the  animal's  hind- 
legs  slipped  back.  With  a  bound  Dick  sprang 
to  the  ground. 

"  Hyp,  good  horse,"  he  cried,  raising  the 
*ein. 

A  powerful  effort,  and  footing  was  regained. 
Dick  vaulted  into  the  saddle  (he  seldom  used  the 
stirrup),  and  away  they  went  again,  blithe  as  ever. 
Then  a  long  stripe  of  tangled  forest  appeared. 
Dick  diverged  here.  It  was  easier  to  skirt  it 
;han  to  crash  through  it.  Presently  a  broad  deep 
iver  came  in  view.  There  was  no  looking  for  a 
x>rd,  no  checking  the  pace.  In  they  went  with 
sounding  plunge,  as  if  water  were  their  native 
element,  breasted  the  foaming  tide,  and,  gaining 
:he  opposite  bank,  went  steadily  forward. 

Thus  on  they  sped,  over  hill  and  dale,  all  that 
light,  for  the  moon  was  bright  in  the  cloudless 
sky,  and  part  of  next  day.  Then  Dick  made  a 
judden  halt  and  dismounted,  to  examine  some- 
:hing  on  the  ground.  Footprints  of  Indian 

29 


33S  I»    MAN    <  -VEST. 


—  tour  of  them  —  going  in 

.    rose,  and   his  strong  l>ro\vs  wen-  ki 
1    his    lips    iinnly    pressed   together.      F<> 

O    he    pOIld'Ted,    thru     he 

horse    to   follow   him,   and,   dropping  the    l> 
set  off  at  a  rapid  walk.  g  st«-:idii 

•:iid   stooping  now  and   then   to  examine 
lip-in  \vhen    the    nature   of  the   ground 

MI    less    discernible.       Thus    he    retrae-  (1    his 
irse  for  about  a  mile,  when  he  stopped  and 
mi;  "No  doubt  o't      Th'-m  reptiles  i: 

liese  diggins  hut  \vhen   | 

As  1.  ;nted  his  horse  and  sat 

hard  lo 

-  ea\en  with  Mary  ) 

the    cr:  -<*lVage8  WCTC    liuntilli^    it 

Tii    '  ihought  M  ti.  e 

ird  the  . 
j)aee  tl.  had  hit). 

The  re.-i  k  gained  th- 

ofli  savages, 

1    in    time  to  onally.  the  hos- 

pitalities of  his  o\\  n  d\vei; 
iij)  to  the  IP 

d     the     | 

.  les  and  n  h  -light  of 


THE   INDIANS   MAKE   A   SUDDEN   EXIT.         339 

Mary,  and  the  words  "too  late"  would  whizz 
about  in  his  brain. 

The  Indians  were  still  sitting  round  the  fire 
enjoying  themselves,  when  March  and  Mary,  to 
their  unutterable  surprise,  beheld  Dick  stride 
through  the  low  doorway  of  the  cave,  raise  him- 
self to  his  full  height,  and  stand  before  the 
stricken  invaders,  absolutely  blazing  with  wrath. 
His  eyes,  his  hair,  his  beard,  his  glistening  teeth, 
seemed  each  individually  imbued  with  indigna- 
tion. 

The  Indians  did  not  move  —  they  could  not 
move  —  they  simply  sat  and  stared,  and  thus 
both  parties  continued  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute. 

Mary  used  that  short  time  well.  She  knew 
exactly  what  to  do.  Darting  into  her  chamber, 
she  seized  the  end  of  the  rope  connected  with  the 
tank  and  pulled  it  violently.  March  saw  the 
rock  above  the  fireplace  drop !  A  clear,  spark- 
ling cataract  sprang  as  if  by  magic  from  the  wall ! 
Next  instant  there  was  black  darkness  and  yells, 
steam,  shrieks,  and  howls,  —  a  hissing,  hurling 
hubbub,  such  as  no  man  can  possibly  conceive 
of  unless  he  has  seen  and  heard  it!  We  will 
not,  therefore,  even  attempt  a  description. 

The  Indians  rushed  en  masse  to  the  doorway. 
Death  in  the  jaws  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  Wr.-t 
was  infinitely  preferable  to  being  par-boiled  and 
suffocated ;  but  the  Wild  Man  had  judiciously 
made  way  for  them.  They  gained  the  outer  cave, 


THE    WILD    MAN    OF   THB   WEST. 

<l<>\vn  the  pathway. 

handle  of  the  BhriekingHDMcUlM  \vith  the  :-er<»nd- 
\v  i.f  rrlirviiiLT   his  own  frrlii 
:iosr  Imii 

'iild   be   no  altrrnaiivr  in  th»- 

and  they  }i;t  IKM-H  heard  of  MINT — from 

his! 

were  n«  e  are 

doings  01  , —  a  i 

*un\  —  we\v. 
:inpn«ss  ;i  that  such  scenes  as  we 

\vit- 

;cle(l  in  |  .n  any  n 

he   |>re.-. 

:::••     n  0      :•  '  Dg   thfl  do  -i  -  (rf  a  M  \\"ild    .Man,"  and, 

ii  the  a>j 

and 

B8j    and    vag;-. 
.•'lire  U 

sarily,  be  altogc 

We.  lint, 

wli 


MARCH   EXPRESSES   HIS    SURPRISE.  341 

reported  deeds  of  this  hero,  you  will  not  withhold 
your  belief  in  the  fidelity  of  the  other  portions  of 
this  narrative. 

No  sooner,  then,  were  those  unwelcome  visitors 
ejected  than  Dick  returned  to  the  scene  of  devas- 
tation and  shouted,  "  Hallo  !  Mary !  " 

"  Safe,  all  safe,"  she  replied,  as,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  March  Marston,  she  pushed  the  plank 
across  the  chasm,  and  returned  to  the  centre  cave. 

"  Is  the  lad  March  safe  too  ?  "  inquired  Dick, 
as  he  busied  himself  in  striking  a  light  with  flint 
and  steel. 

"All  right,"  answered  the  youth  for  himself, 
"  but  horribly  battered,  an'  fit  to  yell  with  pain, 
not  to  mention  surprise.  Do  look  sharp  and  get 
the  fire  up.  Sich  doins'  as  this  I  never  did  see 
nor  hear  of  since  I  left  the  frontier.  I  do  declare 
it's  worthy  o'  the  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  himself. 
What  d'ye  find  to  laugh  at,  Dick  ?  Pm  sure  if 
ye  had  my  miserable  bones  in  yer  body  at  this 
moment,  ye'd  laugh  wi'  your  mouth  screwed  the 
wrong  way.  Look  alive,  man  !  " 

"Patience,  lad,  patience.  That's  one  o'  the 
vartues,  I  believe  ;  leastwise  so  I  am  told  (ah,  it's 
caught  at  last.  Hand  me  that  dry  stuff  on  the 
south  shelf,  Mary ;  ye  can  find  it  i'  the  dark,  I 
doubt  not)  ;  yes,  it's  a  vartue,  but  I  can't  boast 
o'  having  much  o't  myself;  I  dun  know  much 
about  it  from  'xperience  ;  d'ye  see  ?  There,  now, 
we'll  git  things  put  to  rights,"  he  added,  apply- 
so* 


.IE    WEST. 

ing  the  kindled  spark  to  som  ;>ro- 

,  with  which  he  ignited  ;i  ; 

knot,  ;nj(i  BJ  'lazing  in  a  cleft  in  the  i 

"Ju*t  sec  \vhat  them  :  im-. 

it  Pm  a  good-t< 

h'lirvr  1  '^y-     See,  .^ 

ry  and  ED 

in   or-lrr." 

!irr   hrlj.  'tally. 

:MT- 

haps  iril  make  Hi- 

ii  was  made 

'11   only  hr    in   our  I 

Ig   a    larLr-   hr«x>ni  and  IH-LTHI 
and    pi- 
oal  \\  ith  \\  i  ully 

1     up    the    » 
i-  and  furniture  of  li 

on    th»-    led:  the 

ground. 

. 

g    a    dry 

id     \\\<     - 

den  and  mil  irn. 

••  1  1 

y,  \\  ho     hu-tled 


MARCH'S  ANXIETY  FOR  HIS  FRIENDS.    -  343 

of  a  kitten,  or  —  to  use  an  expression  more  in 
keeping  with  the  surrounding  circumstances  —  a 
wild  kitten. 

Dick,  without  checking  his  broom,  told  how 
he  had  discovered  the  tracks  of  the  Indians,  and 
returned  at  once,  as  has  been  related. 

"  Then,"  said  March,  looking  anxiously  at  his 
host,  "  you'll  not  be  able  to  help  my  poor  com- 
rades and  the  people  at  the  Mountain  Fort." 

"  It  an't  poss'ble  to  be  in  two  places  at  once, 
no  how  ye  can  fix  it,"  returned  Dick,  "  else  I'd 
ha'  been  there  as  well  as  here  in  the  course  of  a 
few  hours  more." 

"  But  should  we  not  start  off  at  once  —  now  ?  " 
cried  March,  eagerly,  throwing  his  legs  off  the 
ledge  and  coming  to  a  sitting  position. 

"  You  an't  able,"  replied  Dick,  quietly,  "  and  I 
won't  move  till  I  have  put  things  to  rights  here, 
an'  had  a  feed  an'  a  night's  rest.  If  it  would  do 
any  good,  I'd  start  this  minute.  But  the  fight's 
over  by  this  time  —  leastwise,  it'll  be  over  long 
afore  we  could  get  there  !  and  if  it's  not  to  be  a 
fight  at  all,  why  nobody's  none  the  worse,  d'ye 
see." 

"  But  may-be  they  may  hold  the  place  for  a 
long  time,"  argued  March,  "  an'  the  sudden  ap- 
pearance of  you  and  me  might  turn  the  scale  in 
their  favor." 

"So  it  might  —  so  it  might.  I've  thought  o' 
that,  and  we'U  start  to-morrow,  if  yer  able.  But 


it  v  M{   horse 

1,    \\itlim. 

and 

.ft     to-Iii  larch. 

rly. 
M    \  'i<l  ri<lc." 

rof;   but  —  hut  —  "  at  that 
'a  eyeencoun  1  try's — "but 

\\h  :  Mary?" 

No 

:•   o'    red.-  ••ulilin'    IHT   ai:aiu    for    m 

.     "  Come,  lass,  ! 
tne  Mipj 

COC)K  .        I'll    ki: 

mr.       \\ 
tO    b«'    B 

llOIMi 

In  thr  course 

. 

ihr  rook 

curlintr 
tlin. 

is   -at  thr  \Vil.l  .Man 
\viiL  LOB!    inn; 

han 


MARY    THE    11UNT1. 

expressions  beaming  in  his  clear  blue  ey- 
gazed  first  at  Mary,  who  sat  on  his  ri^ht  hand. 
then  at  March,  who  sat  on  his  left,  and  then  at 
the  iron  pot  which  sat  or  stood  between  his 
knees,  and  into  which  he  was  about  to  plunge  a 
large  wooden  ladle. 

"  There's  worse  things  than  buffalo-beef-bergoo, 
March,  an't  there  ?  Ha,  ha !  my  lad,  tuck  that 
under  yer  belt,  it'll  put  the  sore  bones  right 
faster  than  physic.  Mary,  my  little  pet  lamb, 
here's  a  marrow-bone  ;  come,  yer  growin',  an'  ye 
can't  grow  right  if  ye  don't  eat  plenty  o'  meat 
and  marrow-bones  ;  there,"  he  said,  placing  the 
bone  in  question  on  her  pewter  plate.  "  Ah ! 
Mary,  lass,  ye've  bin  mixin'  the  victuals.  Why, 
what  have  we  here  ?  " 

"  Moose  nose,"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  look  of 
pleasure. 

"  I  do  b'lieve  —  so  it  is !  why  where  got  ye  it  ? 
I  han't  killed  a  moose  for  three  weeks  an'  more." 

"  Me  kill  him  meself,"  said  Mary. 

"  You ! " 

"  Ay,  me  !  with  me  own  gun,  too  !  " 

"  Capital !  "  cried  Dick,  tossing  back  his  heavy 
locks,  and  gazing  at  the  child  with  proud  delight. 
"  Yer  a  most  fit  an'  proper  darter  for  the  Wild  - 
a  —  ho!"  sneezed    Dick,  with  sudden  violn 
while  Mary  glanced  quickly  up  and  opened   her 
eyes  very  wide.    "  Whisst  —  to  —  a  —  hah!  whew ' 


WILD    M 

r!  I  raally 

•chin'  e» 

!i  \\  as   al    thai    i 
y'a  eyes  and  a  m 

arini:  i'«>r  tin-  besc 

at  this  time  -  ao  was  i 

qui«  upon  the  principle  that    pre- 

rs   a   man  tt1  \  hundred 

ini:   and    ol.vioiis    fa« 

him  Bi 

l>ut    lii-   mind 
the 

.    UL'ly    i 

. 

him  lull  in 
ihe    Wild  the 

Wi  i     he    d; 

•ecame  ^r 

"  I'll  tell  ye  <o: 


CONVERSATION   IN   THE    CAVI-.  o  17 

quietly  ;  "  not  now  —  not  now.  Come,  lad,  if  ye 
mean  to  mount  and  ride  wi'  me  to-morro\v,  you'll 
ha'  to  eat  heartier  than  that." 

"  Pm  doing  rny  best.  Did  you  say  it  was 
you  that  shot  the  moose-deer,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  me.  Me  go  out  to  kill  bird  for 
make  dinner,  two  day  back,  an'  see  the  moose  in 
one  place  where  hims  no  can  escape  but  by  one 
way  —  narrow  way  —  tree  feets,  not  more,  wide. 
Hims  look  to  me  —  me's  look  to  him.  Then  me 
climb  up  side  of  rocks  so  hims  no  touch  me,  but 
must  pass  below  me  quite  near.  Then  me  yell  — 
horbuble  yell !  ("  Ha  !  "  thought  March,  "  music, 
sweetest  music,  that  yell !  ")  an'  hims  run  round 
in  great  fright !  ("  Oh,  the  blockhead,"  thought 
March)  —  but  see  hims  no  can  git  away,  so  hims 
rush  past  me  !  Me  shoot  in  back  of  hims  head, 
an'  him  drop." 

"  Huzza !  "  shouted  Dick,  in  such  a  bass  roar, 
that  March  involuntary  started.  "  Well  done, 
lass ;  ye'll  make  a  splendid  wife  to  a  Jbold  moun- 
taineer." 

March  could  not  believe  his  eyes,  while  he 
looked  at  the  modest  little  creature  who  thus 
coolly  related  the  way  in  which  she  slaughtered 
the  moose  ;  but  he  was  bound  to  believe  his  ear.-, 
for  Mary  said  she  did  the  deed,  and  to  suppose  it 
possible  that  Mary  could  tell  a  falsehood  was,  in 
March's  opinion,  more  absurd  than  to  supp* 
that  the  bright  sun  could  change  itst'lf  inio 


- 

>minsj   the  wife  o 
ineer  startled    him.      11<     i'<  li,  that   in 

Id    no   loiiLr' 
_'ht  made  him  tir- 
M  D'ye  kill  many  mount;:  >  here,  J). 

reh,  wlien  his  milled  temper  had  : 
smoothed  down  with  an  :ie. 

44  Ay,  lots  of  V: 
••  \\  hat  like  are 

11  a  lh»  Q 
'fhin  range." 
•  Tout  : 

- 
••  \ 

.  like    tl  • 

.s  horns.     I  si  v  with  In 

new  in 
tha-  e  a  good  ih<  t.  .M 

"  .M 

I  an't  a  sla  like 

u  Ilumj  .     u  If 

come  to  smoke   nm. 

n  .'       \'f    may  run  do\\  n  ;i  <tee|)  hill. 

n    I 


MARCH   MARSTON   AND    DICK.  349 

like ; '  but  ye'll  come  to  a  pint,  lad,  when  ye'll 
try  to  stop  an'  find  ye  can't —  when  ye'd  give  all  ye 
own  to  leave  off  runnin',  but  ye'll  have  to  go  on 
faster  an'  faster  till  yer  carried  off.yer  legs,  and, 
mayhap,  dashed  to  bits  at  the  bottom.  Smokin' 
and  drinkin'  are  both  alike.  Ye  can  begin  when 
you  please,  an'  up  to  a  certain  pint,  ye  can  stop 
when  ye  please ;  but  after  that  pint,  ye  cwrft 
stop  o'  yer  own  free  will  —  ye'd  die  first.  Many 
an'  many  a  poor  fellow  has  died  first,  as  I  know." 

"  An'  pray,  Mister  Solomon,  do  you  smoke?  " 
inquired  March,  testily,  thinking  that  this  ques- 
tion would  reduce  his  companion  to  silence. 

"  No,  never." 

"  Not  smoke ! "  cried  March,  in  amazement. 
The  idea  of  a  trapper  not  smoking  was  to  him  a 
thorough  and  novel  incomprehensibility. 

"  No  ;  nor  drink  neither,"  said  Dick.  "  I  once 
did  both,  before  I  came  to  this  part  o'  the  country, 
and  I  thank  the  Almighiy  for  bringing  me  to  a 
place  where  it  warn't  easy  to  get  either  drink  or 
baccy  —  specially  drink,  which  I  believe  would 
have  laid  me  under  the  sod  long  ago,  if  I  had  bin 
left  in  a  place  where  I  could  ha'  got  it.  An'  now, 
as  Mary  has  just  left  us,  poor  thing,  I'll  tell  ye 
how  I  came  by  the  big  iron  pot.  There's  no 
mystery  about  it ;  but  as  it  b'longed  to  the  poor 
child's  father,  I  didn't  want  to  speak  about  it 
before  her." 

Dick  placed  an  elbow  on  each  knee,  and,  rest- 
so 


said    In  .  in  a  low  Bad 
1  lei't  home,  and  —  lull  iiiif 

he    pint."    In-   a<l(l«-(l   quickly. 
see,  Man  h.  when  I 

•li  a  comrade  —  a 
to    niv    likin'  :    l>e<-n    j 

.  in  a  pa  iiiu' 

bO  return  to  ; 
\\-\\  \\hcrr   he   00  ^''  the   j> 

If   a  pint  he  would  n 

onlv 

••  \\"cll,  him  .      I  !«• 

'lire 

Injun    i. 
was  tin 

.  a.-kin' 
her ;   • 
an'  ;  to  Lrit  th 

er.      \\"e 

1  wi'  ih«  ea,  and    huir  an' 

hen    out    on    thi 

; hem    reptile^    took    a  ^} 


in. 

iried  by  every  way  he  could  to  raise  the  Jnjiins 
agin'  him,  but  couldn't;  so  he  detannined  to 
murder  him. 

"One  day  we  was  out  huntin'  together,  an' 
being  too  far  from  the  Pawnee  lodges  to  i.  lurn 
that  night,  we  encamped  in  the  wood,  an'  biled 
our  kettle — this  iron  one  ye  see  here.  Adam  had 
a  kind  o'  likin'  for't,  and  always  carried  it  at  his 
saddle-bow  when  he  went  out  o'  horseback.  We'd 
just  begun  supper,  when  up  comes  the  Wild-cat, 
as  he  was  called —  Adam's  enemy — an'  sits  down 
beside  us. 

"  Of  course,  we  could  not  say  we  thought  he  was 
up  to  mischief,  though  we  suspected  it,  so  we  gave 
him  his  supper,  an'  he  spent  the  night  with  us. 
Nixt  mornin'  he  bade  us  good  day,  an'  went  off. 
Then  Adam  said  he  would  go  an'  set  beaver-traps 
in  a  creek  about  a  mile  off.  Bein'  lazy  that  day, 
I  said  I'd  lie  a  bit  in  the  camp.  So  away  he 
went.  The  camp  was  on  a  hill.  I  could  see 
him  all  the  way,  and  soon  saw  him  in  the  water 
settin'  his  traps. 

"  Suddenly  I  seed  the  Wild-cat  step  out  o'  the 
bushes  with  a  bow  an'  arrow.    I  knew  \\ ! 
tip.     I  gave  a  roar  that  he  might  have  heard  1en 
miles  off,  an'  ran  toward  them.    But  an  arrow  \ 
in  Adam's  back  before  lie  could  git  to  the   shore. 
In  a  moment  more  lie  had  the  Injun  by  the  tlm- 
an' the  two  s  i  for  life.      Adam  could  ha' 

choked  him  easy,  but   the  arrow  in    his  back  Irt 


WILD    M 

rly  burst  ray  heart  in  that  race. 
he  edge  o 

i    him    <!•  I  was  tr\ 

over  the  hank. 

••  I    had    my  big  sword   wi'   me,  an'  hewed   the 

ith    it  at  one  blow,  sendi 
. 

te,'says  Ada  iid  him 

on  the  1, 

MI  oov   I  866  thai.     The  head  of 

1  to  spea 
onl  .  , — 

A'hy  sh' 

on  i 

.  oiiL'lit  with  • 


LOOK.  353 


"  And  have  you  and  Mary  lived  li<*r<'  :dl  alone 
since  that  day  ?  " 

"  Ay.  I  came  straight  here  —  not  carin'  \  . 
I  went,  only  anxious  to  get  out  o'  the  sight  o' 
men,  an'  live  alone  wi'  the  child.  I  sought  out  a 
dwellin'  in  the  wildest  part  o'  these  mountains, 
an'  fell  upon  this  cave  where  we've  lived  happy 
enough  together." 

"  Do  ye  mean  to  say  the  child  has  never  played 
with  other  children  ?  "  inquired  March,  amazed 
at  this  discovery. 

"  Not  much.     I  give  her  a  ran  for  a  month 
or  two  at  a  time,  now  an'  agin,  when  I  fall  on  a 
friendly  set  o'  well-disposed  redskins  —  just  to  keep 
the  right  sort  o'  spirit  in  her,  and  comfort  her  a  ! 
But  she's  always  willin'  to  live  alone  wi'  me." 

"  Then  she's  never  learned  to  read  ?  "  said 
March,  sadly. 

"  That  has  she.  She's  got  one  book.  It's  a 
story  about  a  giant  an'  a  fairy,  an'  a  prince  an' 
princess.  Most  'xtraornar'  stuff.  I  got  it  from 
a  Blood  Injun,  who  said  he  picked  it  up  in  a  fron- 
tier settlement  where  the  people  had  all  been  mur- 
dered. When  we  had  nothin'  better  to  do,  I  used 
to  teach  her  her  letters  out  o'  that  book,  an'  the 
moment  she  got  'em  off  she  seemed  to  pick  up 
the  words  I  dun'  know  how.  She's  awful  quick'. 
She  knows  every  word  o'  that  story  by  heart. 
An'  she's  invented  heaps  o'  others  o'  the  most 

30* 


WILD    MAN*    n F    THB   WEST. 

amuxiif  kind.      I've  often  though"  the 

to  ^it  her  some  books,  l»ut " 

iptly,  and  a<: 
as   if  the  thoughts  of  ci\ii 

rd  nnpl' 
Hi    fact   is,    he    continued    MMnewhal 

been   a   ha?  uM 

scarce  brlir-.  !.  l»ui  you   ;irr   ;; 

f  told    all    lliis   to.       1 
that    I  IVrl  a 

with  inc.      J$ut  ; 
one    iVicnd.      I 
•  •    him    ! 

.  taking 
1    in    hi>.  and    Btl  1  a  likin 

i     I    likr 
."      I  Ir  was  t^oing  to 

hr 

,ld    live  iirn 

the  littl 

I 
I    .   ' 

i   put 
an  c'lid  to  1: 


MAKCH  BREAKS  DOWN.          355 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

March,  though  Willing  in  Spirit,  finds  his  Body  weak.  —  He  makes 
Mary  a  Present.  —  The  Trappers  set  out  to  search  for  their  Lost 
Comrade.  —  An  Unexpected  Meeting.  —  Big  Waller  waxes  Pug- 
nacious. —  News  of  March.  — Dick  becomes  more  Mysterious  thau 
ever.  —  A  Reckless  Proposal  and  a  Happy  Meeting. 

NEXT  morning  before  daybreak,  March  Marston 
attempted  to  set  out  for  the  Mountain  Fort  with 
Dick ;  but  he  was  so  thoroughly  knocked  up 
before  the  end  of  the  first  mile  that  he  had  to 
call  a  halt,  and  admit  that  he  could  not  think  of 
going  further.  This  was  just  what  Dick  wanted  ; 
so  he  laughed,  told  him  to  go  back  and  take  care 
of  Mary,  and  he  would  advance  alone. 

March  returned,  very  much  humbled,  exces- 
sively pained  in  ah1  his  joints,  and  feeling  as  if 
he  had  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  Oh !  you  com  back  ?  "  cried  Mary,  as  he 
entered  the  cavern  with  a  crest-fallen  air.  "  .M.- 
so  glad !  Me  know  very  well  you  was  no 
poss'ble  for  travel." 

Mary  was  perfectly  artless.  She  made  no 
attempt  whatever  to  conceal  her  satisfaction  at 
the  youth's  return,  so  he  felt  amazingly  coin- 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   V 

come   b 

o'  MO  use   tryiif  ;    I'd  ji* 

kMOelxC,!     Uj)    •  Wlhch     WOllM     1|    , 

a\vk\v;ir<l     for     Dick,   you    know,   as    well    as 
lift   tiijht  ji, 

u>  g& 

]\«  aif  \\cll.       M. 

Well  have  no  figl 

la     If  there  i-.  me  take  care  < 
in  that  way." 

there  was    i;  ..mi- 

looking 

s,  me  ca  i 

book.J>     She  sigl  his. 

"  Woi  i 

"  Oh  yi.-.  vougotc 

one  I  h-ive  in  tl 

lint   I'll  :o  you,  V 

Chance Q 

—  the  mother    ga  .,  lu  n  .  i 

hon 


MARCH'S  PKI 

March  pulled  the  little  volume  out  of  the  t 
of  his  coat  as  he  spoke,  and  handed  it   to 
girl,  who  received  it   eagerly,  and   looked  at  it 
\vith  mingled  feelings  of  awe  and  curiosity  for 
some  time  before  she  ventured  to  open  it. 

"  The  Bibil.  Dick  have  oftin  speak  to  me 
'bout  it,  an'  tiy  to  'member  some  of  it.  But  he 
no  can  'member  much.  He  tell  me  it  speak 
about  the  great  good  Spirit.  Injins  call  him 
Manitow." 

"  So  it  docs,  Mary.  I'll  leave  it  with  you 
when  I  go  away.  You  say  Dick  couldn't  re- 
member much  of  it ;  neither  can  I,  Mary.  More 
shame  to  me,  for  many  an'  many  a  time  has  my 
poor  mother  tried  to  make  me  learn  it  off  by 
heart." 

"  You  mother  ? "  repeated  Mary,  earnestly. 
"  Is  you  mother  livin'  ?  " 

"  That  is  she.  At  least,  I  left  her  well  an' 
hearty  in  Pine  Point  settlement  not  many  weeks 
agone." 

"  Me  wish  me  had  mother,"  said  Mary,  with  a 
sigh. 

March  gazed  at  the  sad  face  of  his  fair  com- 
panion with  a  perplexed  yet  sympathetic  look. 
This  was  a  new  idea  to  him.  Never  having 
been  without  a  mother,  it  had  never  entered  into 
Ids  head  to  think  of  such  a  thing  as  wishing  for 
one. 

"What  you  mother  called?"  said  the  girl, 
looking  up  quickly. 


WILD   MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


"  I  '  !-y." 

.     Call  same  as  i 
ill.     There  are  a  good 

number  of  rch, 

will.  _rh.     '•  See   here   is   her  name  on 

II     ll   !!!<! 

I     loving 
her,  Mary  Mar- 

i  good  round  hand  <>' 
ry    potty)91    I'''}''*  Hut    she 

-j>ell  out 
which    1  :,!'!i   into    her   ha; 

irain   draw   her    ; 
;  so  he  was 

Leaving    them    thus    or 
:-ii   to  tin-  tr 

iiilt, 

—  1;  -rt  and  i: 

ni.       Si-  i 

in    rrad; 

tln-ir  upjx.rtunii  . 

:i    tin-   v 

Her,   ll:i 

wrre  at  oner 

\  as  thr  others    had  done. 
brrn   ill  BCX 


MARCH'S  COMRADES.  359 

had  not  Big  Waller  been  obliged  to  take  charge 
of  poor  Bertram,  who,  owing  to  the  suddenness 
and  violence  of  all  these  recent  events  in  savage 
life,  had  got  into  a  muddled  condition  of  mind 
that  rendered  him  peculiarly  helpless.  But  they 
knew  nothing  of  March  Marston  —  they  had 
expected  to  find  him  there  before  them. 

As  March  was  well  mounted,  and  known  to 
be  well  qualified  to  take  care  of  himself,  his  non- 
arrival  threw  his  friends  into  a  state  of  the  ut- 
most anxiety  and  suspense.  They  waited  a 
couple  of  hours,  in  order  to  give  him  a  chance 
of  coming  in,  hoping  that  he  might  have  merely 
been  detained  by  some  trifling  accident,  such  as 
having  lost  his  way  for  a  time.  But  when,  at 
the  end  of  that  period,  there  was  still  no  sign  of 
him,  they  gave  up  all  hope  of  his  arriving,  and 
at  once  set  out  to  sweep  the  whole  country  round 
in  search  of  him,  vowing  in  their  hearts  that 
they  would  never  return  to  Pine  Point  settlement 
without  him  if  he  were  alive. 

McLeod  tried  to  persuade  them  to  remain  at 
the  fort  for  a  few  days,  but,  feeling  sympathy 
with  them,  he  soon  ceased  to  press  the  mattrr. 
As  for  the  wretched  chief  of  the  fort,  Macgregor, 
—  the  excitement  of  the  recent  transactions  being 
over,  —  he  had  returned  to  his  bosom  friend,  and 
bitterest  enemy,  the  bottle,  and  was  at  that  time 
lying  in  a  state  of  drivelling  idiotcy  in  his  pri- 
vate chamber. 


360 

fort,  Bounce  and 

( lihauli.  \\lio  c!  to   l»e  rid 

in   : 

a  ridge  and  bei:  tn  the 

Lrriint. 

••  r  •  -11. 

-  now  :  d'ye  sre 

o'    tin*    wair    of    obsars: 

in  a  Lrr:' 
•tight  to^be  so  li  lad. 

soon  lose  yer  s< 

' 
M  1  see 

j)lirs    fr 

mo 

unwoii* 

f ;  obsaij^i 


MARCH'S  COMRADES  AND  THE  WILD  MAN.  361 

knees,  carefully  turning  over  every  leaf  and  blade 
of  grass,  his  comrade,  who  remained  on  horse- 
back, and  kept  gazing  at  the  horizon,  without 
any  particular  object  in  view,  did  suddenly  be- 
hold an  object  coming  towards  them  at  full 
gallop.  Hence  the  sudden  outburst,  and  the 
succeeding  exclamation  from  Bounce  —  "  It's  a 
hoss!" 

"  A  hoss  !  "  repeated  Gibault.  "  Him  be  one 
buffalo  ;  I  see  hims  bump." 

"  The  bump  that  ye  see  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  man  leanin'  forard  —  it  is." 

At  this  moment  the  rest  of  the  party  rode  upj 
and  Redhand  confirmed  Bounce's  opinion. 

"  There's  only  one,  I  guess,  an'  he's  in  a  pow- 
erful hurry,"  observed  Big  Waller.  "  But  we 
may  as  well  be  ready  to  fix  his  flint  if  he  means 
to  cut  up  rough." 

He  brought  forward  his  gun  as  he  spoke,  and 
examined  the  priming. 

"  I  b'lieve  he's  an  evil  spirit,  I  do,"  said 
Bounce ;  "  wot  a  pace  !  " 

"  More  like  to  de  Wild  Man  of  de  Vest,"  ob- 
served Gibault. 

"  Think  you  so  ? "  whispered  Bertram  in  an 
•anxious  tone,  with  an  involuntary  motion  of  his 
hand  to  the  pouch,  in  which  lay  that  marvellous 
sketch-book  of  his. 

"  Think  it's  him  ?  "   said   Redhand  to  Hawks- 


L^ave  a  slight  grunt  of  a^ 
th«-  strange  horseman  soon  put  all  doubt 

en  tin-  point  ;it  rest  by  bearing  down  upon  T! 

like   ;i   whirlwind,   his    loni;   hair,  and   ta^s. 

seal:  streaming  in  the  wind,  as  usual, 

k  had  a  di-tinct  purpose  in  thus  acting.  !!«• 
hed  to  terrify  n  at  least,  u>  impress 

thn  i    wholr-omr  dr- 

!ii|)ly  he  let  alone! 

slashing  pace  until  \ 
bounds  of  the  party.     Reining  up  so 

i  conpl 
. 

><T>  with  a  grave,  almost  fierce  ezpres.- 
lor  a  MTMP  1  or  two. 

fated 

•  ii'-   redskins  threatr; 

\  !i    j>as-rd  arross 

,  as  he  a-  -«•  lo>t  a  comrad- 

• 

ve  seed   him,  1  guess  ye'd  as  well  • 
ts.M 

back    in 
"  One  d 


MARCH'S  COMRADES  AND  THE  WILD  MAX.  363 

flies,  will  bring  ye  to  a  valley,  level  and  well 
watered,  with  plenty  o'  beaver  in  it.  You'll  find 
him  there." 

'  Without  waiting  a  reply  Dick  turned  to  ri<k 
away. 

"  I  say,  stranger,"  cried  Waller  (Dick  paused), 
"  air  you,  or  air  you  not,  the  Wild  Man  o'  the 
West?" 

"  Wild  fools  of  the  West  call  me  so,"  replied 
Dick,  with  a  ferocious  frown,  that  went  far  to 
corroborate  the  propriety  of  the  cognomen  in  the 
opinion  of  the  trappers. 

"  Wall,  I  tell  'ee  wot  it  is,  stranger,  Wild  Man 
or  not,  I  guess  you'll  ha'  to  take  us  to  our  com- 
rade yourself,  for  I'm  inclined  to  opine  that  you 
know  more  about  him  than's  good  for  ye ;  so  if 
ye  try  to  ride  off,  I'll  see  whether  a  ball  —  sixteen 
to  the  pound  —  '11  stop  ye,  for  all  yer  bigness." 

A  grim  smile  curled  Dick's  moustache,  as  he 
replied,  "  If  ye  think  that  a  trapper's  word  an't 
to  be  trusted,  or  that  committin'  murder  '11  do 
yer  comrade  a  service,  here's  your  chance  —  fire 
away !  " 

Dick  wheeled  about  and  cantered  coolly  a  \vny 
into  the  thickest  part  of  the  forest,  leaving  the 
trappers  gazing  at  each  other  in  amazement. 
Bertram  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Oh !  why  did  you  not  delay  him  a  few  sec- 
onds longer  ?  See,  I  have  him  here  —  all  but  the 
legs  of  his  splendid  charger." 


:.D   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 

The  otl  laugh. 

<uly  all  c'reet,  it's  easy  to 
cale  >  by  the  rules  o'  j>rc 

see  ?  "  obser\ 

.,  ikl 
as    j  -hiiik.      I,    for    im<\  will 

bout  the   ( orncr  of 
j   pluin  whether  he's 
.all  find  March  \ 
.  so  the  sooner  we  set 
iting  for  a  r 
<>  a  gallop,  a 

Meanwl.  13  al- 

ig  out  of  si 

orach 

nielli  <•! 
in    1- 

take  a  i 
•i;  was,  tl. 


MARCH   MARSTON   AND   DICK.  365 

second  unexpected  return  of  Dick  ;  but  the  latter 
relieved  his  mind  by  explaining,  in  an  off-hand 
way,  that  he  had  met  a  man  who  had  told  him  the 
Mountain  Fort  was  all  safe,  and  that  his  comrades 
also  were  safe,  and  wandering  about  in  that  part 
of  the  country  in  search  of  him.  After  a  good 
deal  of  desultory  conversation,  Dick  turned  to  his 
guest  with  a  sad,  serious  air,  and,  fixing  his  large 
blue  eyes  on  him,  said,  — 

"  March,  lad,  you  an'  me  must  part  soon." 

"  Part ! "    exclaimed    the    youth    in    surprise,  " 
glancing  at  Mary,  who  sat  opposite  to  him,  em- 
broidering a  pair  of  mocassins. 

"  Ay,  we  must  part.  You'll  be  well  enough  in 
a  day  or  two  to  travel  about  with  yer  comrades. 
Now,  lad,  I  want  ye  to  understand  me.  I've 
lived  here,  off  and  on,  for  the  last  fourteen  or 
fifteen  years  —  it  may  be  more,  it  may  be  less ;  I 
don't  well  remember  —  an'  I've  niver  suffered 
men  to  interfere  wi'  me.  I  don't  want  them,  an' 
they  don't  want  me." 

He  paused.  There  was  a  slight  dash  of  bitter- 
ness in  the  tone  in  which  the  last  words  were 
uttered ;  but  it  was  gone  when  he  resumed,  in 
his  usual  low  and  musical  voice, — 

"  Now,  although  I  chose  to  bring  you  to  my 
cave,  because  I  found  ye  a'most  in  a  dyin'  state, 
an'  have  let  ye  into  one  or  two  o'  my  secrets,  — 
because  I  couldn't  help  it,  seein'  that  I  couldn't 
stop  up  yer  eyes  an'  yer  ears,  —  yet  I  don't  choose 

31* 


^66 

i^ht  to,  an'  you  h 

it  tali 

"  C« 

1  and  an  this  sp< 

Ul    my 
:  .  MM-in'  that  y. 

to  obey ;  but  h< 
ask  me  to   \ 
You  d«  pooe  I  < 

r  grass  f 01 
•ome 

not    1'in  .      Brig 

ur  noti< 
i  a  sort 

UM  an\l 

!1    li«'S 

ou  don''  •  tell  'cm  \vhrn 

8  ;   an*  i 
. 

an'  be 

tell   \vh 

. 

not  a  lir  •  him  <j; 

. 
of  demeanor  and  spt  < 


TALK   ABOUT   PARTING.  :Ui7 

"  Well,  I'm  bound  to  think  only  o'  your  \\ 
in  this  matter,"  replied  March,  in  a  dnappoin 
tone,  "an'  I'll  do  my  best  to  prevent  my  com- 
rades interfering  with  ye,  tho',  to  say  truth,  I 
don't  1hink  you  need  be  so  cautious,  for  they  ain't. 
over-curious  —  none  of 'em.  But — "  here  March 
paused  and  glanced  at  Mary,  who,  he  observed, 
had  drooped  her  head  very  much  during  the  con- 
versation, and  from  whose  eye  at  that  moment  a 
bright  tear  fell,  like  a  diamond,  on  the  work  with 
which  she  was  engaged. 

"  But  —  am  I  —  the  fact  is,  Dick,  I  feel  a  little 
sore  that  you  should  say  ye  had  a  likin'  for  me, 
an'  then  tell  me  I  must  be  off,  an'  never  look  near 
ye  again." 

"  That's  wot  I  never  did  say,  boy,"  returned 
Dick,  smiling.  "  Ye  may  come  alone  to  see  me 
as  often  as  ye  like,  while  ye  remain  in  these  parts. 
An'  if  it  please  ye,  yer  at  liberty  to  come  an'  Jive 
wi'  me.  There's  room  in  the  mountains  for  both 
of  us.  The  cave  can  hold  three  if  need  : 

March  Marston's  heart  beat  quick.  He 
on  the  eve  of  forming  a  great  resolve  !  His  bosom 
heaved,  and  his  eye  sparkled,  as  he  was  about  to 
close  hastily  with  Lhis  proposal,  when,  ai;ain,  the 
memory  of  his  mother  crossed  him,  and  a  deep 
sigh  burst  from  his  lips,  as  he  shook  his  head,  and 
said,  sorrowfully,  "It  can't  be  done,  Dick.  I 
can't  forsake  rny  mother." 

"  No  more  ye  should,  lad,  no  more  ye  should,'' 


Baicl     I  ):«  k,     nodding    aj> 

Minim'    to   yer  moth 
sum: 

.Lrini:  up  ii- 

as  1,  iM   permit   him. 

nthusiastieally  by  the    h 
you  and  send  hi 
I'll   be  back   in  I 

. 

for  she  looked  q  beaming  s; 

so  it  is  a  good  pl:»:u"  said  Dick, 
1:1    Iiaste. 

i'  to  repe  ie.     Go  an'  q 

comrades,  see  \\  ye  to  do. 

. 

will 
be  at    the   ; 

M  II 

M  \\  d    Man  West 

kiit  has  seed 

I 
con 

now  ;  j- 

ara-  it. 


ARRIVAL   OF   MARCH'S    CO.MKA!  369 

"  Bat  how  came  you  to  know  this  ?  "  inquired 
the  astonished  youth. 

"  Why,  the  Wild  Man  an'  me's  oncommon 
intimate,  d'ye  see.  In  fact,  I  may  say  we're  jist 
inseparable  companions,  and  so  I  come  to  know 
it  that  way.  But  make  haste.  We've  no  time 
to  lose. 

"  Gcod-by,  Mary,"  cried  March  with  a  cheer- 
ful smile,  as  he  hurried  out  of  the  cave  after  his 
eccentric  companion.  "  I'll  be  back  before  long, 
depend  on't." 

Mary  nodded,  and  the  two  men  were  soon 
mounted  and  out  of  sight. 

"  I  say,  Dick,"  observed  March,  as  they  rode 
along,  "  you  must  get  me  to  see  the  Wild  Man 
of  the  West ;  if  you're  so  intimate  with  him,  you 
can  easily  bring  him  into  the  cave  ;  now  won't 
you,  Dick  ?  " 

"  Well,  as  I  can't  help  doin'  it,  I  s'pose  I  may 
say  yes,  at  once." 

"  Can't  help  it,  Dick !  What  mean  you  ?  I 
wish  ye'd  talk  sense." 

"  Hist ! "  exclaimed  the  hunter,  pulh'ng  up 
suddenly,  under  the  shelter  of  a  cliff.  "  Yonder 
come  yer  friends,  sooner  than  I  expected.  I'll 
leave  ye  here.  They've  not  seed  us  yit,  an'  that 
wood'll  hide  me  till  I  git  away.  Now,  March, 
he  added,  solemnly,  "  remember  yer  promise." 

In  another  moment  the  wild  hunter  was  gonr, 
and  March  rode  forward  to  meet  his  old  comrades, 


370  TIII:  WILD  M 

ihr    \;iL 

U     tliry    aj>:  .       hi     ;i 

:.  dragged  off  his  horse,  passed 

IK-    handled    nu: 

make  smrr  that  it  was  really  1  :ml, 

swallowed  up  by  Bonn* 

jiit   aln  .  •  passed 

of  a  grisly  bear. 


BOUNCE   ORACULAR.  371 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

March  Marston  is  perplexed,  so  are  his  Friends.  —  An  unlooked-for 
Meeting.  —  Terrible  News.  —  The  Attack.  —  The  Wild  Man  of 
the  West  once  again  renders  signal  Service  to  the  Trappers. — 
Wild  Doings  in  general,  and  March  Marston's  Chagrin  in  par- 
ticular. 

"  MARCH  MARSTON,"  said  Bounce — and  Bounce 
was  sitting  beside  the  camp-fire,  smoking  his  pipe 
after  supper  when  he  said  it  —  "you  may  think 
ye're  a  'cute  feller,  you  may,  oncommon  'cute  ; 
but  if  you'll  listen  to  what  an  oldish  hunter  says, 
an'  take  his  advice,  you'll  come  to  think,  in  a 
feelosophical  way,  d'ye  see,  that  you're  not  quite 
so  'cute  as  ye  suppose." 

Bounce  delivered  this  oracularly,  and  followed 
it  up  with  a  succession  of  puffs,  each  of  which 
was  so  solidly  yellow  as  to  suggest  to  the  mind  of 
Bertram,  who  chanced  to  be  taking  his  portrait 
at  that  moment,  that  the  next  puff  would  burst 
out  in  pure  flame.  Gibault  and  Big  Waller 
nodded  their  heads  in  testimony  of  their  approval 
of  the  general  scope  of  the  remark ;  the  latter 
even  went  the  length  of  "  guessing  that  it  was  ;i 
fact,"  and  Redhand  smiled.  Hawkswing  looked, 
if  possible,  graver  than  usual. 


pause,  Jurii:  < -!i  looked  and  f«  It 

HDD 

d'ye    see  ?    \\  • 

,  BO  as  : 
id  o'  figurati\r  inill- 

inili  >  be  seen  through  :tt   nil. 

is " 

"  0  '>n  suggested  Waller,  mo 

>t   at   al 

severity  in   i  ^'in?  io   li.. 

—  tr;m~  say    il. 

•  >o  feelo^ 

. 

j)h- 

. 

- 

hiif 

f    \VOS    O 

ihr  'T68*  ***'• 

••   him  t»» 

. 

.      "  The 

•hin' 
in  ; 

\<»u    on^lit    to 
board  with  comrade?,  ye  OUL 


MARCH  MAHSTON  PERPLEXED.       373 

"  Oui,"  added  Gibault.  "  Of  course,  you  have 
live  somewhere,  an'  somehow,  all  dis  time.  It 
am  not  posseeble  for  live  nowhere  on  noting.'' 

"  Well,  I  tell  you  I  have  lived  with  a  hunter, 
who  treated  me  very  well,  and  told  me  I'd  find 
you  here ;  having  learned  that,  as  I  understand, 
from  the  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  himself." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Bounce ;  "  but  where  does 
the  hunter  live  ?  " 

"  In  the  mountains,"  replied  March. 

"  So  does  the  Blackfeet  an'  the  Peigans  an'  the 
Crows,  an'  the  foxes  an'  wolves  an'  grisly  bars," 
retorted  Bounce,  drily. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,"  cried  the  exasperated 
March ;  "  the  curiosity  of  you  fellers  beats  the 
squaws  out  an'  out.  Now,  I'll  be  open  with 
ye,  an'  then  ye  must  hold  yer  tongues.  This 
man  that  I've  been  stayin'  with  is  a  very  fine 
fellow,  an'  a  very  wonderful  fellow,  an'  his  name's 
Dick " 

"  Dick  what  ?  "  inquired  Bounce. 

"  Dick  nothing,"  said  March. 

"  Ay !  that's  a  odd  name." 

"  No,  I  mean  he's  only  called  Dick,  an'  he 
wouldn't  tell  me  his  other  name  if  he  has  one. 
Well,  he  said  to  me  I  was  not  to  tell  where  he 
lived,  as  he  don't  like  company,  an'  so  he  made 
me  promise,  an'  I  did  promise,  d'ye  see ;  so  I 
mean  to  stick  to  my  promise,  and  that's  all  about 
it.  I  would  like  to  tell  ye  about  him,  comrades, 


WILD    M 

ive  me  br  word,  \\ 

?" 

"Cer'nl.  said    Hot 

_eh— ah!     \\ 

in'  , 

KgLfM  adopted  daughter.  liviiT  \\  ith  him." 
she    good    lookin*  .' "    iinjuinMl     tt< 
i  a  sharp  glance  :> 

. 

IB 
miuilcrahly 

1 

|   ml  in  the  far*-, 

r   .-tonn.      1 1 

.-I*  a    IHM 
\\llO     Sr  ."llillir     t! 

' 

riain  ligl: 

it    \\tMil<l    h 

.-hort  ti: 


AN   UNLOCKED    FOR   ]U  375 

tinguished  clearly,  and  the  rapid  patter  of  the 
horse's  hoofs  on  the  turf  told  that  the  rider  was 
flying  over  the  ground  at  unusual  speed.  Pass- 
ing round  a  clump  of  low  trees  that  stretched 
out  from  the  mouth  of  the  valley  into  the  plain, 
he  came  dashing  toward  the  camp  —  a  wild- 
looking,  dishevelled  creature,  seemingly  in  a  state 
of  reckless  insanity. 

"  The  Wild  Man  again,  surely,"  said  Bounce, 
who,  with  his  companions,  had  risen  to  await  the 
coming  up  of  the  stranger. 

"  D'you  think  so  ? "  cried  March  Marston, 
eagerly. 

"  Ye  —  eh !  why,  I  do  b'lieve  it's  Mr.  Mac- 
gregor,"  cried  the  astonished  Bounce,  as  the 
reckless  rider  dashed  up  to  the  camp-fire,  and, 
springing  from  his  horse,  with  a  yell  that  savored 
more  of  a  savage  than  a  civilized  spirit,  cried  — 

"  Look  out,  lads ;  up  with  a  pile  o'  rocks  an' 
trees !  They'll  be  on  us  in  a  jiffy !  There's  five 
hundred  o'  the  red  reptiles  if  there's  one.  The 
Mountain  Fort's  burned  to  cinders — every  man 
and  woman  dead  and  scalped  —  look  alive! " 

These  words  were  uttered  hastily,  in  broken 
exclamations,  as  Macgregor  seized  the  logs  that 
had  been  cut  for  fire-wood,  and  began  violently 
to  toss  them  together  in  a  pile ;  while  the  lr. 
pers,  although  much  amazed  and  horrified  at  the 
news,  seized  their  hatchets  and  began  to  in; 
instant  preparation  to  resist  an  attack,  without 


376  l>    MAN   01 

i  in<r    time    in    useless  q1 
served   that   the  coi  r    of  thr    M 

Fort  was  pale  as  death,  that  his  eyes 

lifl   clothes  torn,   and    \\\^   hands   and 
begrimed  \\iih  powder  and  stained  \vi 

March   Marston  worked  tike  a  hero  at  the  rude 
•  »rk    for   some   time,  although    tb 
BO  inucli  pain  that    he  c«>uid  : 
showing  'n  in  his  co  <-e. 

Lrch,"  said  BOUIH 

by  ulder,  "you're  not    1  an* 

much  less  fit  to  fight.      I'll  tell  ye  wot  to  d<>,  lad. 
,1 11111;)  on  my  horse,  an'  away  to  yer  fr; 

•    to   help  us.     ( 
re  good 

t  as  he  was  ab< 

ling   to    him 
.11. 
"No  —  not  ill,  just,  a  sc  i  -in  an  an 

the 
\Valle:-. 

u  Into  th  1  Bonne 


THE   ATTACK   ON   THE   FORT. 

the  breastwork,  "we  don't  need  to  care;  with 
plenty  o'  powder  and  lead  we  can  keep  five  thou- 
sand redskins  off." 

March  heard  no  more.  Dashing  up  the  glen  ;it 
full  speed,  he  disappeared  from  the  spot,  just  as 
the  distant  yell  of  the  savage  host  came  floating 
upon  the  wings  of  the  night  air,  apprising  the 
trappers  that  their  fire  had  been  observed,  and 
that  they  would  have  to  fight  manfully  if  they 
hoped  to  carry  their  scalps  home  with  them. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  Indians  drew  near,  and 
scattering  themselves  round  the  little  entrench- 
ment, began  to  discharge  clouds  of  arrows  at  it, 
but,  fortunately,  without  doing  any  damage.  An 
inaccessible  cliff  protected  their  rear,  and  behind 
a  projection  of  this  the  trappers'  horses  were  se- 
cured. The  breastwork  lay  immediately  in  front. 

Again  and  again  the  savages  let  fly  their  shafts, 
but  without  drawing  any  reply  from  the  trap] 
who  kept  close  under  cover,  and  reserved  their 
fire.  This  tempted  their  enemies  to  approach, 
and,  when  within  short  range,  they  seemed  about 
to  make  a  rush,  supposing,  no  doubt,  that  the 
party  concealed  behind  the  breastwork  must  be 
Indians,  since  they  did  not  use  fire-arms.  Just 
then  Redhand  gave  a  preconcerted  signal ;  three 
sheets  of  flame  spouted  from  their  guns,  and 
three  of  the  foremost  Indians  fell  dead  from  their 
horses. 

With  a  terrible  yell  the  others  turned  to  fly, 

32* 


•  >re   tliry  had   retr- 

li    dead  DOW 

toe  '  !><  hind  trees  and  roc K 

to  dislodge  the  trappers  by  L  inir   an 

such    an    anule    that    they  sh 
drop   into   their  fortress.     One 

1   to    ascend    the    sterp  elill',    l.ut 
arm  or  B!  -  d,  a  ball  fn 

hand'fl  deadly  rifle  struck  it,  so  1 

as  goiniz  on.  Man  h  Marston  gal- 
he  al  ru[)tness  of  his 

so  c 

d    in   th 
ip'ar  the  <po!  \\  hcrr  d  frnin    ; 

i:d  had  not  c>  - -<  d  th  i^of 

-i-rn    the  an 

of  I\I  rch 

in  tl,  ion  of  ti: 

by  the  I 
spec  \\'ild  Man  ( 

i    sorry  to    see    him   t:<>  •  neli   an 

. 

so  as  to  ren 

Observing     that    the     I  I 

dier    at    the    foot  of   a    rug- 
v   for  thu   purpOM'   of  holding  a  .   of  .j 


TIMELY   .AID    OF   THE    WILD    MAN.  379 

\var,  Dick  made  his  way  quickly  to  the  summit  of 
the  cliff,  and,  leaving  his  charger  on  an  emiin 
that  sloped  down  toward  the  entrance  of  the 
valley,  quickly  and  noiselessly  carried  several  huge 
stories  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  intending  to 
throw  them  down  on  the  heads  of  his  foes.  Just 
as  he  was  about  to  do  so,  he  observed  an  over- 
hanging mass  of  rock,  many  tons  in  weight,  which 
the  frosts  of  winter  had  detached  from  the  preci- 
pice. Placing  his  feet  against  this,  and  leaning 
his  back  against  the  solid  rock,  he  exerted  himself 
with  all  his  might,  like  a  second  Samson.  No 
human  power  could  have  moved  such  a  rock,  had 
it  not  been  almost  overbalanced  ;  but,  being  so, 
Dick's  effort  moved  it.  Again  he  strained,  until 
the  great  veins  seemed  about  to  burst  through 
the  skin  of  his  neck  and  forehead.  Gradually 
the  rock  .toppled  and  fell,  and  the  Wild  Man  fell 
along  with  it. 

In  the  agony  of  that  moment  he  uttered  n  cry 
so  terrible  that  it  might  well  have  been  supp<» 
to  have  come  from  the  throat  of  a  supernatural 
being.     The  Indians  had  not  time  to  evade  the 
danger.     The  ponderous  mass  in  its  desn 
a  projecting  crag,  and  burst  into  small- • 
ments,  which  fell  in  a  rattling  shower,  kill-. 
men,  and  wounding  others.     Those  of  the  group 
who  I,  as  well  as  those  who  chanced  to  I  e 

beyond  ihe  danger,  saw,  by  the  dim  moonlight, 
the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  descending,  as  it  \\ « 


380  It   MAN  OF  THE   WEST. 

•  rious  demon  in  • 

on  of  dust  and  rocks.      They  knew  him 
It  \vair-  his  to  fill  them   to  o\erllow 

They  turned  and  ll« 
loiiLfh  ama/ed  beyond  measi 

is  that  had  thus  suddenly 
)    their  li'-ir   horees,  and, 

lr;ij  r  th'-ir    harricad    .  i    dou  n    the 

i   pursuit,  iiring  a  volley  .   and 

us  they  rode  at  full  speed, 
t  might  well  be 

foot  of  : 
:  through  a 

urrd    if 
i     in    the    midst  of   fcJ  I    \vhicli 

it    lie  u  as    not    i 

lie  W8fl  indulge 

n  times  of  nc':<>n.     ( living  1 
self  one  bo  make  .-  * 

soun  id  and  limb,  he  bounded 

by  a  path  with   \\  hi<  h    he   was 
his  horr 

to    the  f    the    v;; 

suddenly  round,  met  the  hon 

.  li ! 

r  \\  iili  \vliieli 
pound  in  aid  altogether  hideoi. 


FLIGHT    OF   THE   INDIANS.  381 

mind  was  in  a  mingled  condition  of  amazement 
and  satisfaction  at  his  escape,  triumph  at  the 
success  of  his  plan,  and  indignation  at  the  cow- 
ardly wickedness  of  the  savages.  A  rollicking 
species  of  mad  pugnacity  took  possession  of  him, 
and  the  consequence  was,  that  the  sounds  which 
issued  from  his  leathern  throat  were  positively 
inhuman. 

The  rushing  mass  of  terror-stricken  men,  thus 
caught,  as  it  were,  between  two  fires,  divided,  in 
order  to  escape  him.  Dick  was  not  sorry  to 
observe  this.  He  felt  that  the  day  was  gained 
without  further  bloodshed.  He  knew  that  the 
superstitious  dread  in  which  he  was  held  was  a 
guarantee  that  the  savages  would  not  return ;  so, 
instead  of  turning  with  the  trappers  to  join  in  the 
pursuit,  he  favored  them  with  a  concluding  and  a 
peculiarly  monstrous  howl,  and  then  rode  quietly 
away  by  a  circuitous  route  to  his  own  cavern. 

Thus  he  avoided  March  Marston,  who  on  find- 
ing that  his  friend  Dick  was  out,  had  returned  at 
full  speed  to  aid  his  comrades,  and  arrived  just 
in  time  to  meet  them  returning,  triumphant  and 
panting,  from  their  pursuit  of  the  foe  ! 

"  Are  they  gone  ?  "  cried  March  in  amazement. 

"  Ay,  right  slick  away  into  the  middle  o'  no 
whar,"  replied  Big  Waller,  laughing  heartily. 
"  Did  ye  iver  hear  such  a  roarer,  comrades  ?  " 

"  Have  you  licked  'em  out  an'  out  ?  "  continued 
the  incredulous  March. 


382  D   MAN   OF   TI1E   WEST. 

u  Ay,  out  an'  out,  an'  no   mistake,"  r» 
Bounce,  dismounting. 

••  \\Yli.  that  is  luck;  March;  "  lor  my 

i  Dick  I  found  was  not " 

!iot  have   need    him." 
Gi!          .       ipinir  the  perspiration  Jrom  his 

\Vild  Man  of  de  West  hims  c< 
— »  should  see  what  hims  ha 

\ild  Man  ag  nied  Mai 

—  aan'  me  absei 
mil  nod 

-<m  exclamation  from  Redhand 
ie  attention  of  the  whol<  11 

ig  beside  Macgregor,  who  1 
mou  \vn. 

"  I    1  ."  said  tl: 

.  'said 
ocL" 

. 
«•  rest  —  see, 

re." 

••  1   know  tl:  r  —  is  a  good 

ng,''  said  Ma 

me,"  lai; 
II..\\  far  ofl   i- 


MACGREGOR   WOUNDED.  383 

"  Four  miles  from  this.  I'll  take  you  if  you 
can  ride,"  said  March. 

"  Ay,  that  I  can,  bravely,"  cried  the  trader, 
who,  having  taken  a  deep  draught  of  spirits, 
seemed  to  be  imbued  with  new  life.  "  Come, 
young  sir,  mount." 

The  trappers  endeavored  to  dissuade  the  vio- 
lent man  from  the  attempt,  but  he  could  not  be 
controlled ;  so  March,  hastily  observing  that  he 
would  see  him  safe  to  the  hunter's  abode  and 
return  without  delay,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
away,  followed  by  the  wounded  man. 


UII.I>    .V  HE    WEST. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

The  Wounded  Fur-Trader. 

hey  reached  the  < 
March   and   \\\<  con. 

from  loss  of  blood 
foot  of  the 

.  h  ran  hazily  in  for  assist  a  1  was 

surprise 
side  of  the  fire,  and  so  absorbed  in 

mce  —  a 

xls, 

:th. 
••   \\ 
ihr  ,_«r  up,  8t'i,  ihr 

is,  and  gaziin 

i  tig. 

March    Mar.-ion  ;   though 
hov  ;ime  to  .UK-    I   (I 

i  " 


THE   WILD    MAN'S   CAVE.  385 


"  That  is  she,  an'  well,  I  trust  • 


"  An'  your  father,"  interrupted  Dick ;  "  how's 
he,  lad,  eh?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  March,  frowning ;  "  he 
forsook  us  fourteen  years  agone  ;  but  its  little 
good  talking  o'  such  matters  now,  when  there's 
a  poor  fellow  dyin'  outside." 

«  Dyin'  ?  " 

"  Ay,  so  it  seems  to  me.  I've  brought  him  to 
see  if  ye  can  stop  the  bleedin',  but  he's  fainted, 
-and  I  can't  lift " 

Dick  waited  for  no  more,  but,  hastening  out, 
raised  McGregor  in  his  arms,  and  carried  him 
into  the  inner  cave,  where  Mary  was  lying  sound 
asleep  on  her  lowly  couch. 

"  Come,  Mary,  lass,  make  way  for  this  poor 
feller." 

The  child  leaped  up,  and,  throwing  a  deer-skin 
round  her,  stepped  aside  to  allow  the  wounded 
man  to  be  placed  on  her  bed.  Her  eye  imme- 
diately fell  on  March,  who  stood  in  the  entrance, 
and  she  ran  to  him  in  surprise. 

"  What's  de  matter,  March  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Mary,"  said  Dick,  in  a  low  voice ; 
"we'll  have  to  speak  soft.  Poor  Macgregor 
won't  be  long  for  this  world,  I'm  affeared.  Fetch 
me  the  box  o'  things." 

"  You  know  him,  then  ?  "  whispered  March,  in 
surprise. 

"  Ay,  I've  often  bin  to  the  Mountain  Fort  and 

33 


386 

1    him    i1  ••'.-  romin'  to.      Put  thaf 

U'hind    mr,  hid.      It'll    be*    !>• 
him  iiu* 

As  h  ;mlr<l    man  BJ  iutly. 

.  ••  \\"M. 
;in,"  \vl: 
his  slumMrr  :!(•••(!.  and,  k; 

ii<l  : 

allriLrlr.  icgregor. 

you  to  the  h  .     1  Ir'll  drrs-  und 

:iii'i  n;  so  m;t 

But  you'll  h  urh 

\vhilc    1) 

to  tli- 
Iporing 

i  id  occa.< 

ion. 

•ul«l   it    be,"   ihonirht    March. 


THE    WILD    MAN'S    CAYK.  387 

and  the  wounded  fur-trader  ?  "  Not  being  able 
to  find  a  satisfactory  reply  to  the  thought,  he 
finally  dismissed  it,  and  turned  his  attentions 
altogether  toward  Mary,  whose  looks  of  sur- 
prise and  concern  showed  that  she,  too,  was 
puzzled  by  the  behavior  of  her  adopted  father. 

During  that  night  and  all  the  next  day  the 
wounded  man  grew  rapidly  worse,  and  March 
stayed  with  him,  partly  because  he  felt  a  strong 
interest  in  and  pity  for  him,  and  partly  because 
.  he  did  not  like  to  leave  to  Mary  the  duty  of 
watching  a  dying  man. 

Dick  went  out  during  the  day  in  the  same 
excited  state,  and  did  not  return  till  late  in  the 
evening.  During  his  absence,  the  dying  man's 
mind  wandered  frequently,  and,  in  order  to  check 
this  as  well  as  to  comfort  him,  March  read  to  him 
from  his  mother's  Bible.  At  times  he  seemed  to 
listen  intently  to  the  words  that  fell  from  March's 
lips,  but  more  frequently  he  lay  in  a  state  appa- 
rently of  stupor. 

"  Boy,"  said  he,  starting  suddenly  out  of  one 
of  those  heavy  slumbers,  "  what's  the  use  of  read- 
ing the  Bible  to  me  ?  I'm  not  a  Christian,  an' 
it's  too  late  now  —  too  late !  " 

"  The  Bible  tells  me  that  <  now '  is  God's  time. 
I  forget  where  the  words  are,  an'  I  can't  find 
'em,"  said  March  earnestly ;  "  but  I  know  they're 
in  this  book.  Besides,  don't  you  remember  the 
thief  who  was  saved  when  he  hung  on  the  cro&s 
in  a  dyin'  state  ?  " 


WILD  M 

1  .-lowly,  and  still 
inir 

•;t  thr 

flung  to  him.      He  turn-  iges 

hurrinlly  to    tin«l    ap 
a^ain    and 

;    of 
God.      II<    tin  <1  all  h< 

i    and   n.  nly 

(1 : 

to  savt  st  all 

(Jod  throuir'- 

hear 

n    I 

A  strange  H  .  tin* 

rnind  oi 

I'-ntly  a.- 

-\\L:«        . 
Bib 


MACGREGOR'S  DEATH.  389 

in  a  sudden  burst  of  anger)  have  murdered  my 
boy." 

"  Father !  "  exclaimed  March,  seizing  Mac- 
gregor's  hand. 

The  dying  man  started  up  with  a  countenance 
of  ashy  paleness,  and,  leaning  on  one  elbow, 
gazed  earnestly  into  the  youth's  face  —  "  March ! 
can  it  be  my  boy  ?  " —  he  fell  back  with  a  heavy 
groan.  The  bandages  had  been  loosened  by  the 
exertion,  and  blood  was  pouring  freely  from  his 
wound.  The  case  admitted  of  no  delay.  March 
hurriedly  attempted  to  stop  the  flow  of  the  vital 
stream,  assisted  by  Mary,  who  had  been  sitting 
at  the  foot  of  the  couch  bathed  in  tears  during 
the  foregoing  scene. 

Just  then  Dick  returned,  and,  seeing  how  mat- 
ters stood,  quickly  stanched  the  wound ;  but  his 
aid  came  too  late.  Macgregor,  or  rather  Obadiah 
Marston,  opened  his  eyes  but  once  after  that, 
and  seemed  as  if  he  wished  to  speak.  March 
bent  down  quickly  and  put  his  ear  close  to  his 
mouth ;  there  was  a  faint  whisper,  "  God  bless 
you,  March,  my  son,"  and  then  all  was  still. 

March  gazed  long  and  breathlessly  at  the  dead 
countenance ;  then,  looking  slowly  up  in  Dick's 
face,  he  said,  pointing  to  the  dead  man,  "  My 
father ! "  and  fell  insensible  on  the  couch  beside 
him. 

We  will  pass  over  the  first*  few  days  that  suc- 
ceeded the  event  just  narrated,  during  which 

33* 


M  ;  11!    about   the  wild   rn  i<  n    in 

our  in 

iid   tin*  l'i 

him  when    hr    1  in    tin 

1    linn!,  allow    tl 

briii 

in    the    t 

I  I 

. 
I 

1.   and   of    tli 


LOUIS    THE   TRAPPER.  391 

times,  the  dying  man  listened  to 

Word  of  God;  and  the  tear  of  sorr<  f.-Jl 

upon  the  grave  as  he  turned  to  quit  that  soli 

fc,  was  mingled  with  a  tear  of  joy  and  thank- 
fulness that  God  had  brought  him  there  to  pour 
words  of  comfort  and  hope  into  his  father's  dying 
ear. 

That  night  he  spent  in  the  cave  with  Dick ; 

he  felt  indisposed  to  join  his  old  comrades  just 

The    grave   tenderness   of    his   eccentric 

friend,  and   the    sympathy  of  little   Mary  were 

more  congenial  to  him. 

"  March,"  said  Dick,  in  a  low  sad  tone,  as  they 
sat  beside  the  fire,  "  that  funeral  reminds  me  o' 
my  friend  I  told  ye  of  once.  It's  a  lonesome 
grave  his,  with  nought  but  a  wooden  cross  to 
mark  it." 

"  Had  you  known  him  long,  Dick  ?  " 

.  not  long.  He  left  the  settlement  in  a 
huff — bein',  I  b'lieve,  crossed  in  love,  as  I  told 
ye." 

Dick  paused,  and  clasping  both  hands  over  hi.s 
knee,  gazed  with  a  look  of  mingled  sternness  and 
sorrow  at  the  glowing  fire. 

t;  Did  ye  ever,"  he  resumed,  abruptly,  "  h< 
a  feller  called    Louis,  who  once   lived   at    Pine 
Point  —  before    ye>  was    born,  lad;    did  ye  e 
hear  yer  mother  speak  of  him  ?  " 

••Louis?     Yes  —  well;    I    b<  think 

I've  heard  the  name  before.     Oh,  yes !     People 


D    MAN    OF   THE    V 

<1  to  say 

-  a  girl;  but  I  n< 

Now  ye  m«  "iily  tii 

•  •(I    h'-r  B  -In-   burst   in 

never  to  speak  of  him  a^rni.     T: 
name  —  Louis  Th  i 

n  ;is  Louis 

ost  forgotten  at   the  set  s  so 

long   ago.     Every  our  thinks  hi 

liy  not?     My  p<»  llr»l 

r  go 

i'    n<>    i! ..  —  no    morr    lie 

i»  in 

••  \\ 

\\ith  much  i: 

lit'    (ll)SC! 

cheerful  tone :  — 

"  ^^  go  to  P 

r    that     [ 

J   looked  pu:  .  i  aiUTSc  : 

COii^  -;»lir(l,  "  B 


MARCH   AND    THE   WILD    V 

looking   up    quickly,    she    added,    "  \Vhieh 
like?" 

"  Indeed,  I  must  make  the  same  reply,  !\ 
—  <I  don't  know.'     But,  as  I  can't  expect  my 
friend  Dick  to  give  up  his  wild  life,  I  suppose    1 
must  make  up  my  mind  to  come  here." 

"  March,  said  Dick,  quickly,  "  I've  changed 
my  mind,  lad.  It  won't  do.  You'll  have  to 
spend  next  winter  at  home  —  any  how  ye  can't 
spend  it  with  me." 

Had  a  Ihunderbolt  struck  the  earth  between 
-  March  and  Mary,  they  would  not  have  been  filled 
with  half  so  much  consternation  as  they  were  on 
hearing  these  words.  It  was  plain  that  both  had 
thoroughly  made  up  their  minds  that  they  were 
to  be  together  for  many  months  to  come.  Dick 
noted  the  effect  of  his  remark,  and  a  peculiar 
frown  crossed  his  countenance  for  a  moment,  but 
it  gave  place  to  a  smile,  as  he  said,  — 

"  I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  ye,  lad  ;  but  the  thing 
cannot  be." 

"  Cannot  be  I "  repeated  March,  in  a  tone  of 
exasperation,  for  he  felt  that  this  was  an  un- 
warrantable piece  of  caprice  on  the  part  of  his 
friend  ;  "surely  you  don't  claim  to  be  chief  of  1  lie 
Rocky  Mountains  \  If  I  choose  to  come  an1  spend 
the  winter  in  this  region,  you  have  no  right  to 
pr  vent  me.  And  if  I  offer  to  bring  you  furs  and 
venison,  besides  pretty  good  company,  will  ye  l>e 
such  a  surly  knave  as  to  "refuse  me  a  corner  of 
your  cave." 


Tin*  tiling  cai 

All    I 

! 
;  1  want  * 

. 

i  did 
ilia;     M 


THE    DAY   OF   DEPART  395 

Each  day  he  passed  with  his  comrades,  hunting 
and  trapping,  and  each  night  he  bade  them,  adieu 
and  returned  to  sup  and  sleep  in  UK;  cave,  and  of 
course,  persecuted  Dick  all  that  time  ;  but  Dirk 
was  immovable. 

Of  course,  the  trappers  renewed  their  attempts 
to  get  March  to  show  them  Dick's  abode,  but  he 
persistently  refused,  and  they  were  too  good- 
natured  to  annoy  him,  and  too  honest  to  follow 
his  trail,  which  they  might  easily  have  done,  had 
they  been  so  disposed. 

At  last  the  time  arrived  when  it  became  neces- 
sary that  the  trappers  should  return  to  Pine  Point 
settlement.  In  the  midst  of  all  their  alarms  and 
fights  they  had  found  time  to  do,  what  Big  Waller 
termed,  a  "  j^etty  considerable  stroke  o'  business." 
That  is  to  say,  they  had  killed  a  large  number  of 
fur-bearing  animals  by  means  of  trap,  snare,  and 
gun,  so  that  they  were  in  a  position  to  return 
home  with  a  heavy  load  of  valuable  skins.  The 
day  of  their  departure  was  therefore  arranged, 
and  March,  mounting  his  steed,  gaUoped,  for  the 
last  time,  and  with  a  heavy  heart,  toward  the 
cave  of  his  friend  Dick. 

As  he  passed  rapidly  over  the  wild  country, 
and  entered  the  gloomy  recesses  that  surrounded 
the  Wild  Man's  home,  he  thought  over  the  ai 
ments  and  persuasive  speeches  with  which  he 
meant  to  make  a  last,  and,  he  still  hoped,  suc- 
cessful appeal.  But  March  might  h  nil 


<>f  all   this   thoj;; 
he  waa   absent 

grieved    him  drrpK. 

hy  his   companion-   for 
on  their  homeward  joun 
hr  h  are. 

.Mar.  .March 

isulnl.  B 

:  — 

hiins 

- 

. 

' 

. 

. 

nioiiMnitioii.  hui  (1  80 

1  hro\vn  hair  hi»l 

IKT  ,rch 
fain                                    ,    -riiuine —  -  \\'lial 

lu-  l><  came  • 

him 

.ig   ihr   half    hour   ti, 

rene  in  : 

but  \\itliout  success.     At  la.-t  In- 


MARCH   TAKES   LEAVE   OF   MARY.  397 

"  Must  you  go  'way  dis  night  ?  "  said  Mary, 
with  a  look  of  concern." 

"  Ay,  Mary,  an'  it's  not  much  matter,  for  ye 
don't  seem  to  care." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  reproachfully,  "  You  is 
not  please'  with  me,  March  —  why  ?  " 

The  question  puzzled  the  youth.  He  certainly 
was  displeased,  but  he  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  to  say  that  he  was  so  because  Mary  had 
not  fallen  into  a  state  of  violent  grief  at  the 
prospect  of  a  separation.  But  the  anxious  gaze 
of  Mary's  truthful  blue  eyes  was  too  much  for 
him,  —  he  suddenly  grasped  both  her  hands,  and, 
kissing  her  forehead,  said :  — 

"  Mary,  dear,  I'm  not  displeased.  I'm  only 
sorry,  and  sad,  and  annoyed,  and  miserable  — 
very  miserable  —  I  can  scarcely  tell  why.  I  sup- 
pose I'm  not  well,  or  I'm  cross,  or  something  or 
other.  But  this  I  know,  Mary,  Dick  has  invited 
me  to  come  back  to  see  him  next  year,  and  I 
certainly  shall  come  if  life  and  limb  hold  out  till 
then." 

Mary's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  as  she  smiled 
through  them,  March,  being  very  near  her  face, 
beheld  in  each  eye  an  excessively  miniature  por- 
trait of  himself  gazing  out  at  him  lovingly. 

"  Perhaps !  "  faltered  Mary,  "  you  no'  want  for 
come  when  it  be  nixt  year." 

Poor  March  was   overwhelmed   again,   abso- 

34 


u 


"  \\ 

.     the    (  i 

.   Mary,  —  tii! 

> -f  the 

68,    and 

. 

the  \Vil.l   .M-.iii  him- 

n   :i!id  to 

e  ;m<l  111:111.      I ! 

\vitiM-s.  • 
tainly     li:i 

'  : 


i- 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

March  Marston  at  Home.  —  His  astonishing  IJi-havior.  —  Xan- 
of  his  Extraordinary  Adventures.  —  Widn\v  Mar.-tmi's  Ilowcr. — 
The  Rendezvous  of  the  Trappers.  —  A   stran^u    Iiiti-rruplidii   to 
March's  Narrative.  —  A  Wild  Surprise  and  Recovery  of 
Lover.  —  Great  Destruction  of   Household    Goods.  —  A   Double 
Wedding  and  Tremendous  Excitement.  —  The  Wild  Man  of  the 
West  the  Wisest  Man  in  Pine  Point  Settlement. 

THREE  months  passed  away,  and  at  the  end  of 
that  period  March  Marston  found  himself  back 
again  in  Pine  Point  settlement,  sitting  on  a  low 
stool  at  that  fireside  where  the  yelling  and  kick- 
ing days  of  his  infancy  had  been  spent,  and 
looking  up  in  the  face  of  that  buxom,  blue-eyed 
mother,  with  whom  he  had  been  wont  to  hold 
philosophical  converse  in  regard  to  fighting  and 
other  knotty  —  not  to  say  naughty  —  questions, 
in  those  bright  but  stormy  days  of  childhood 
when  he  stood  exactly  "two-feet -ten,''  and  when 
he  looked  and  felt  as  if  he  stood  upwards  of  ten 
feel  two  ! 

Three  months  passed  away,  and  during  Hit; 
passage  of  thai  period  March  Marston's  bosom 
became  a  theatre  in  \\liicli,  unseen  by  the  naked 
lye,  were  a  legion  of  spirits,  good,  middling, and 
bad,  among  whom  were  hope,  fear,  de>p:iir. 


4CO  THE   WILD   MAN    01 

fun,  delight,  interest,  surprise,  mi 

tion,  and  a  military  demoi 

who  overbore  and  browbeat  all  the  n 

These  scampered  through  his  brain  up 

his  heart  and  tumbled  about  in   hi.- 

lungs,  and  maintained  a  furiou 

and  in  short  behaved  in  a 

disgraceful,  and  that  caused  the  poor  ian 

alternately  to  amuse,  aimo\.  'mi 

his  comrades,  who  beheld  th- 

those  private  theairicals,  but   had  n.< 

of  the  terrific  combats  that   took   place   so 

quently  on  the  stage  wit! 

During  those  th. 
things.     He  sa\v  \i\>  old 
and  the  prong-h 
bears,  and  th 
and  shot,  and  a:  .      j  ;. 

Clouds    Of  lr 

that  they  sometimes  darken*  d 

herds  of  buii' 

ened  the  whole  plain. 

Ikiring  ti 

good   deal.  :nr<l   thai    t. 

more  of  every  sort  o 
he  had  had  any 

very  much,  to  be   ihankful  for  — 
many,  very  many,  th 
many  also  to  be  gla, 
knowledge  were  illimit.i 


MARCH   RELATES   HIS   ADVENTURES,  401 

own  individual  acquirements  were  preposterously, 
humblingly,  small ! 

He  thought  much,  too.  He  thought  of  the 
past,  present,  and  future  in  quite  a.  surprising 
way.  He  thought  of  his  mother  and  her  loneli- 
ness, of  Dick  and  his  obstinacy,  of  Mary  and  her 
sweetness,  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  and  his 
invisibility.  When  this  latter  thought  arose,  it 
had  the  effect  invariably  of  rousing  within  him 
demon  Despair ;  also  General  Jollity,  for  the  gen- 
eral had  a  particular  spite  against  that  demon, 
and,  whenever  he  showed  symptoms  of  vitality, 
,  attacked  him  with  a  species  of  frenzy  that  was  quite 
dreadful  to  feel,  and  the  outward  manifestations 
of  which  were  such  as  to  cause  the  trappers  to 
fear  seriously  that  the  poor  youth  had  "  gone  out 
of  his  mind,"  as  they  expressed  it ;  but  they  were 
wrong  —  quite  wrong  —  it  was  only  the  natural 
consequence  of  those  demons  and  sprites  having 
gone  into  his  mind,  where  they  were  behaving 
themselves  —  as  Bounce,  when  March  made  him 
his  confidant,  said  —  with  "horrible  obstropolos- 

ity" 

Well,  as  we  have  said,  March  was  seated  on  a 
low  stool,  looking  up  in  his  mother's  face.  He 
had  already  been  three  days  at  home,  and,  during 
every  spare  minute  he  had,  he  sat  himself  down 
on  the  same  stool,  and  went  on  with  his  inter- 
minable narrations  of  the  extraordinary  adven- 
tures through  which  he  had  passed  while  among 

34* 


freat 

. 
tin-  frr 

rs,  —  \vii 

(1    to    this    iiitrrmii 
narration  with  i, 

ng  to  a 

\v«-  have  BO 
eod 

Ah! 
to  i 

•  Kit  talk  : 


MARCH    AND  403 

considerable  amount  of  uncommon  sense.  aii<l  his 
mother  listened  with  intelligent  interest;  com- 
menting on  what  he  said  in  her  quiet  -he 
found  opportunity  —  we  say  this  advisedly,  for 
opportunities  were  not  so  frequent  as  one 
suppose.  March  had  always  been  possessed  of  a 
glib  tongue,  and  he  seemed,  as  Bounce  remarked, 
to  have  oiled  the  hinges  since  his  return  to  Pine 
Point  settlement. 

"  Mother,"  said  March,  after  a  short  pause  that 
had  succeeded  an  unusually  long  burst,  "  do  you 
know  it's  only  a  few  months  since  I  left* you  to 
go  to  this  trip  to  the  Mountains  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  well,  my  son,"  replied  .the  widow, 
smiling  at  the  question. 

"  And  do  you  know,"  he  continued,  "  that  it 
seems  to  me  more  like  five  years  ?  When  I 
tlriik  of  all  that. I've  heard,  and  all  that  I've  done, 
and  all  that  I've  seen,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  it  1. 
took  —  as  if  it  must  have  took  —  five  years  to 
have  heard  and  done  and  seen  it  all  in!  " 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  widow,  musingly,  "  you 
failed  to  see  the   Wild  Man  o'  the  We- 
all." 

"  Mother,  I'll  be  angry  with  you  if  you 
that  agnin." 

"  Weil,  I  won't,"  she  replied,  taking  his  hand 
in  hers  and  stroking  it.  u  Tell  me  again,  March, 
about  Dick  of  the  Cave  and  his  liale  girl.  I 
like  to  hear  about  them ;  they  were  so  kind  to 


404  THE   WILD   MAN   OF   TIIK    WHBT. 

you,  and  that  Dick,  from 

be  such  a  fine   fellow  ;  tell  me   all 

over  again." 

"I   will,   mother,"    R  /    his 

throat,  and  commencing  in  a  ton*'   that 
clearly  his  intention  of  going 

Widow  Marston's  cottage  had  a  pr« 
fortable-looking flower-garden  behind 
the  windows  looked  out  upon  a  portion  of 
native  woods  which  had  been  left  standing  \v 
the  spot  for  the  settlem< 
back  garden  -T  which 

brother,   the    blacksmith,  ha< 
creepers    on    which    had    been    < 
widow's  own   hat  si  \\  h< 
the   belle    of    th 
which   \  ious  one. 

tuiet,  joll; 

of  whom  smoked,   and   one  of  whom    B 
They  were    our  lhaiid,    1  Big 

Waller,  Gibaulr.  Hi 

It  is  observable  among  m 

company  tcv  iirn 

they  return  again  to  civilized,  or  to  se 
life,  they  feel  a  strong  in. 
together,  either  from  the 
pathy,  or  both.     Oi, 
trappers,  after  visiting  their  fri< 
drew  together  again  as  if 
attraction.     In  whatever  manner  they  c-hai.. 


THE   TRAPPERS   IN   THE   BOWER.  405 

to  spend  their  days,  they  —  for  the  first  week  at 
least  —  found  themselves  trending  gradually  each 
evening  a  little  before  sunset  to  a  common 
centre. 

Widow  Marston  was  always  at  home.  March 
Marston  was  always  with  his  mother.  Deep  in 
his  long-winded  yarns.  The  bower  was  always 
invitingly  open  in  the  back  garden  :  hence  the 
bower  was  the  regular  rendezvous  of  the  trappers. 
It  was  a  splendid  evening  that  on  which  we  now 
see  them  assembled  there.  The  sun  was  just 
about  to  set  in  a  flood  of  golden  clouds.  Birds, 
wild-fowl,  and  frogs  held  an  uproarious  concert 
in  wood  and  swamp,  and  the  autumnal  foliage 
glowed  richly  in  the  slanting  beams  as  it  hung 
motionless  in  the  still  atmosphere. 

"  D'ye  know,"  said  Redhand,  removing  his 
pipe  for  a  few  minutes  and  blowing  aside  the 
heavy  wreaths  of  tobacco-smoke  that  seemed  un- 
willing to  ascend  and  dissipate  themselves,  "  d'ye 
know,  now  that  this  trip's  over,  I'm  inclined  to 
think  it's  about  the  roughest  one  I've  had  for 
many  a  year.  An'  it's  a  cur'ous  fact,  that  the 
rougher  a  trip  is  the  more  I  like  it." 

Bertram,  who  was  (as  a  matter  of  course)  sketch- 
ing, turned  over  a  few  leaves  and  made  a  note  ot 
the  observation. 

"  I  guess  it  was  pretty  much  of  a  middlin'  jolly 
one,"  said  Big  Waller,  smoking  enthusiastically 
and  with  an  expression  of  intense  satisfaction  on 
his  weather-beaten  countenance. 


406  THE    WILD   MAN   OF   THE    V 

"  An'  profitable,"  observed  Bounce,  n 

"Ah!  oui,   ver'   prof  'tal  > 
"  Dat  is  de  main  ting.    We  have  git  j 
an'  have  bring  horn'  our  own 
not  moche  sure  of  one  or  two  tii. 

"  True/'  said  Bounce  ;  '•  e  got 

for  to  be  thankful  for.     :^ 
skin  of  a  human  ain't  to  be  put   in 
\vi'  the  skin  o'  a  beaver,  d'ye  see  ?  " 

Bounce  glanced  at  1!  ing  as   li 

but  the   Indian  only  looked  stolid,  and 
solemnly. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued 

nor  a  broken  one,  ai  k  a 

whole   one,  though  I'm   not  ago 
that  there's  son:'  •   in    bringing   1> 

other  sc 

to  prove  the  true   J'«  .    of   tli- 

see? " 

Bou; 

ergy,  to  take  a  ] .  biff      I! 

however-, 
subsided  quietly  into  a  si 

"  What  a  splendidly 
claimed   Bertram,  pu.-hin^   l.:u-k  lii 
hat,  in  order  the  better  to  g 
length,  of   his  sketch,  and   n.mp 
original. 

"  AVot's  the  meanin'  o'  ) 
Bounce. 


A    SURPRISE.  407 

Theodore  Bertram  looked  and  felt  puzzled. 
He  was  not  the  first  man  who  thought  that  he 
knew  the  signification  of  terms  well,  and  found 
himself  much  perplexed  on  being  suddenly  called 
upon  to  give  a  correct  definition  of  a  well-known 
word.  While  he  is  laboring  to  enlighten  his 
friend,  we  shall  leave  the  bower  and  return  to  the 
hall,  or  kitchen,  or  reception-room,  —  for  it  might 
be  appropriately  designated  by  any  of  these  terms, 
—  where  March  is,  as  usual,  engaged  in  expound- 
ing backwoods'  life  to  his  mother.  We  have 
only  to  pass  through  the  open  door  and  are  with 
them  at  once.  Cottages  in  Pine  Point  settlement 
were  of  simple  construction ;  the  front  door 
opened  out  of  one  side  of  the  hall,  the  back  door 
out  of  the  other.  As  the  weather  was  mild,  both 
were  wide  open. 

March  had  just  reached  an  intensely^ntere  sting 
point  in  his  narrative,  and  was  describing,  with 
flashing  eyes  and  heightened  color,  his  first  in- 
terview with  the  "  Vision  in  Leather,"  when  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  the  sound  of  horses' 
hoofs  coming  at  a  rapid  pace  along  the  road  that 
led  to  the  cottage.  The  wood  above  referred  to 
hid  any  object  approaching  by  the  road  until 
within  fifty  yards  or  so  of  the  front  door. 

"  They  seem  in  a  hurry,  whoever  they  be," 
said  March,  as  he  and  his  mother  rose  and  hast- 
ened to  the  door,  "  an'  there's  more  than  one 
rider,  if  I've  not  forgot  how  to  judge  by  sounds. 
I  should  say  that  there's  —  HALLO  !  " 


408  TIIE  WILD    31 

The  .ation    v  ural    by 

means,  for  at  that  moment   a  very  n  mark  able 
horseman  dashed  round  ; 
galloped  toward   the    c<  I5o?h    n 

hor 

and  his  voluminous  brown 

behind  him.      On  they  came  wit:  :un- 

drn  tks,  and  dust  llyi 

front  of   the   eottage.     The  noble   hor.-e  pur 

.  and  wi 
of  a  deer,  ie  strength  of  b 

mu-  a    in    pn 

. 
paling    flew    ill. 

. 
as  T  ndi 

'•  D 

thiu  Q  the  sac 

to  the  groun  -h  a  sin- 

her   riirht    hand    in    ; 
his,  and. 
alarmed  coui 

violently  to  her  \  :red 

her  name  in  a  low,  deep  t 
wild  surprise  mingl.-d  wir 


THE   RETURNED    LOVER.  409 

«  Louis ! " 

The  color  fled  from  her  cheeks,  and  uttering  a 
piercing  cry,  she  fell  forward  on  the  breast  of  her 
long-lost  lover. 

March  Marston  stood  for  some  time  helpless  ; 
but  he  found  his  voice  just  as  Redhand  and  the 
other  trappers,  rushing  through  the  house,  burst 
upon  the  scene  —  " Dick! "  shouted  March  again, 
in  the  highest  pitch  of  amazement. 

"  THE  WILD  MAN  o'  THE  WEST  ! "  roared 
Bounce,  with  the  expression  of  one  who  believes 
he  gazes  on  a  ghost. 

"  Fetch  a  drop  o'  water,  one  o'  you  fellers," 
said  the  Wild  Man,  looking  anxiously  at  the  pale 
face  that  rested  on  his  arm. 

Every  one  darted  off  to  obey,  excepting  Ber- 
tram, who,  with  eyes  almost  starting  out  of  their 
sockets,  was  already  seated  on  the  paling,  sketch- 
ing the  scene  ;  for  he  entertained  an  irresistible 
belief  that  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  would,  as 
he  had  already  done  more  than  once,  vanish  from 
the  spot  before  he  could  get  him  transferred  to 
the  pages  of  his  immortal  book. 

Trappers  are  undoubtedly  men  who  can  act 
with  vigorous  promptitude  in  their  own  peculiar 
sphere ;  but  when  out  of  that  sphere,  they  are 
rather  clumsy  and  awkward.  Had  they  been  in 
the  forest,  each  man  would  have  fetched  a  draught 
of  clear  water  from  the  nearest  spring  with  the 
utmost  celerity ;  but,  being  in  a  settlement,  they 

35 


410  THE   WILD    M 

knew  not  where  to  turn.     Big   Waller  dashed 

toward  a  very  small  pond  which  lay   i 

cottage,  and  dipping  his 

compound  of  diluted  mud   and   < 

bault  made  an  attempt  on  a  tiny  rivulet 

like  success,  which  v 

its  fountain-hend  lay  at  the   bor 

pond.     Bounce  and  Ha 

cottage  in  search  of  the  needful  lluid,  hi, 

unused  to  furniture, ' 

small  table  in  their  haste,  and  B< 

floor  a  mass  of  crockery,  with  a  cra-h  th:r 

them  feel  as  if  they  had 

ing   some    din-    do," 

almost  terrified  the   household 

Then  Bounce  made  a  hopeful 
which,  having  Inppil;. 
had  i  the  wr« 

and  sail 

fort  to  wren  -,  r-ehurn. 

belief  tha 

Of  all  the  parly  old   K 
with  his  bald  head  g 
the  sinking  sun,  and 

over  with  a  II,-  knew  well 

that  the  young  widow  would  soon    r< 
or  without  the  aid  i 
pipe  complacently,  leaned  ai: 
and  looked  on. 

He  "-**  riorhf.    Tn  a  fe\v  minutes  Mrs. 


WIDOW  MARSTON  AND  THE  WILD  MAN.   411 

recovered,  and  was  tenderly  led  into  the  cottage 
by  her  old  lover,  Louis  Thadwick,  or,  as  we  still 
prefer  to  call  him,  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West. 
There,  seated  by  her  side,  in  the  midst  of  the 
wreck  and  debris  of  her  household  goods,  the 
Wild  Man,  quite  regardless  of  appearances,  be- 
gan boldly  to  tell  the  same  old  tale,  and  commit 
the  same  offence,  that  he  told  and  committed 
upwards  of  sixteen  years  before,  when  he  was 
Louis  the  Trapper,  and  she  was  Mary  West. 

Seeing  what  was  going  forward,  the  judicious 
trappers  and  the  enthusiastic  artist  considerately 
retired  to  the  bower  behind  the  house.  What 
transpired  at  that  strange  interview  no  one  can 
tell,  for  no  one  was  present  except  the  kitten. 
That  creature,  having  recovered  from  its  conster- 
nation, discovered,  to  its  inexpressible  joy,  that, 
an  enormous  jug  having  been  smashed  by 
Bounce  along  with  the  other  things,  the  floor 
was  covered  in  part  with  a  lakelet  of  rich  cream. 
With  almost  closed  eyes,  intermittent  purring, 
quick-lapping  tongue,  and  occasional  indications 
of  a  tendency  to  choke,  that  fortunate  animal 
revelled  in  this  unexpected  flood  of  delectation, 
and  listened  to  the  conversation ;  but,  not  being 
gifted  with  the  power  of  speech,  it  never  divulged 
what  was  said  —  at  least  to  human  ears,  though 
we  are  by  no  means  sure  that  it  did  not  create  a 
considerable  amount  of  talk  among  the  cat-pop- 
ulation of  the  settlement. 


412  THE   WILD   M. 

Be   this  as  it  may,  when    t! 
length  opened  the  door,  an<  "Come 

lads  —  it's    all    right,"    they    found 
Marston  with  confusion  and  happiness  1 
on  her  countenance,  and  the  Wild  M  ui  him 
in  a  condition  that  fully  justified    Boimr<-'>  sug- 
gestion that  they  had  better   send  for  ; 
waistcoat  or  a  pair  of  Imndrutl'-.     As  for  Mai 
he  had  all  along  been,  and  still  was,  speechless. 
That  the  Wild  Man  of  md 

Dick  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West,  an 
should  come  home  at  tin 
and  propose  to  marry  his  mother,  was  pa.^ 
—  so  of  course  he  didn't  brlirvr 

"  Hallo !  wait  a  bit ;  I  do  b'lieve  I  was  f<> 
tin',"  cried  the   Wild    M  :   up  in 

own  violent  impuM 
(as  a  matter  of  course,  briuij  um 
icacirs),  dashing 
all   but  annihilation  of 
door,  and  giving  >  shrill  \ 

All  rushed  out 

were  prepared  for  any  thing  no\v 
bison  to  a  red  warrior's  ghost,  and  would   1 
been  rather  disappointed  had  any  thing 
appeared. 

Immediately  there  was  a  cl  . 
beautiful  while  pony  gallop- 
of  the  wood,  and  made  straight  for  ige. 

Seated  thereon  was  the  vision  i 


MARCH   AND   THE   VISION.  413 

seated  as  a  woman  sits,  but  after  the  fashion  of 
her  own  adopted  father,  and  having  on  her 
leathern  dress  with  a  pair  of  long  leggings  highly 
ornamented  with  porcupine-quills  and  bead- 
work.  The  vision  leaped  the  fence  like  her 
father,  bounded  from  her  pony  as  he  had  done, 
and  rushed  into  the  Wild  Man's  arms,  exclaim- 
ing, "  Be  she  here,  an'  well,  dear  fader  ?  " 

"  Ay,  all  right,"  he  replied ;  but  he  had  no  time 
to  say  more,  for  at  that  moment  March  Marston 
darted  at  the  vision,  seized  one  of  her  hands,  put 
his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  swung  her,  rather 
than  led  her,  into  his  mother's  presence. 

"  Here's  Mary,  mother !  "  cried  March,  with  a 
very  howl  of  delight. 

The  widow  had  already  guessed  it.  She  rose 
and  extended  her  arms.  Mary  gazed  for  one 
moment  eagerly  at  her  and  then  rushed  into 
them.  Turning  sharp  round,  March  threw  his 
arms  round  Bounce's  neck  and  embraced  him  for 
want  of  a  better  subject ;  then  hurling  him  aside 
he  gave  another  shout,  and  began  to  dance  a 
violent  horn-pipe  on  the  floor,  to  the  still  further 
horrification  of  the  kitten  (which  was  now  a 
feline  maniac),  and  the  general  scatteration  of 
the  mingled  mass  of  crockery  and  cream.  See- 
ing this,  Bounce  uttered  an  hysterical  cheer. 
Hawkswing,  being  excited  beyond  even  savage 
endurance,  drew  his  scalping-knife,  yelled  the 
war-cry,  and  burst  into  the  war-dance  of  the 


414  THE    WILD    M 

Seneca  Indians.     In  short,  ihe  wid.  mgQ 

became  the  theatre  of  a  scene  t 

done  credit   to    the  violent'  wards  of   a    1m ; 

asylum  —  a  scene,  which   is  utT.-rly 

delineative   powers  of  pen  or    pencil  - 

which    defies    description,    r 

conception,  and  will  dwell  f. 

rics  of  those  who  took   part    in  it    like   tl 

phantasmagoria  of  a  tremendous  dre 

»  »  •  • 

Of  course,  a  wild  mail  eould 
like  an   ordinary  mortal,  to  wait   a   rea 
time  in  order  to  give  his 
preparing   her  tr  .      I  fe  wa$  B 

man,  and  a  man  of  a  strong  mind.      He 
upon    beinp 

done   with    it."      So  her 

u  out  of  hand  " 
excellent   cl«  i   of    Pii: 

On   the   same  ci 
]\Iarston    was    married - 
no  doubt  —  i 

There  in 

these   proceedings,    n 
who  feel 
mind,  ii 

precipitancy  at    ' 
cannot  be  altered  in  order  to  ; 
taste  of  the  so-called  civilized  world. 

Public  opinion  in  the  set 


THE   WEDDING    FESTIVITIES.  415 

in  favor  of  the  doings  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West.  Delay  was  deemed  by  all  to  be  unneces- 
sary, and  all  the  more  so  that  the  double 
wedding-day  was  to  be  celebrated  as  a  species 
of  public  event. 

The  romance  connected  with  the  previous  life 
of  Dick,  and  especially  his  singular  and  unex- 
pected return  to  his  first  love,  created  quite  a 
sensation,  even  in  a  region  in  which  wild  deeds 
and  wonderful  events  were  so  common  that  it 
required  a  man  to  be  a  real  hero  to  enable  him 
to  rise  conspicuous  above  his  fellows.  Many 
trappers  came  in  from  a  considerable  distance  to 
take  part  in  the  rejoicings  of  that  day,  and  from 
the  dance  which  followed  the  ceremony  there 
was  not  absent  a  living  creature  belonging  to 
the  settlement. 

Every  dog  was  there,  of  course,  adding  its 
vocal  melody  to  the  dulcet  tones  of  the  black- 
smith's violin.  Even  the  cats  of  the  settlement 
were  present,  including  that  celebrated  kitten 
which  had  been  reduced  to  a  state  of  drivelling 
imbecility  by  the  furious  advent  of  the  Wild 
Man.  Owls  and  other  sagacious  birds  also 
came  from  afar  to  see  the  fun,  attracted  by  the 
light  of  the  fire ;  for  the  ball-room  was  the  green 
sward  of  the  forest,  which  was  illuminated  for 
the  occasion  by  a  bonfire  that  would  have  roast- 
ed a  megatherium  whole,  and  also  would  have 


416  THE   Wli  :IE    WEST. 

furnished  accommodation  fora  pot  1 

to  boil  an  elephant.     Don't 

vanity  of  your  heart,  that  you  hav« 

that  fire!     You   have   not,  a  ulcl 

,  the   me 

end  of  a  notion  of  what  it  was!  A  i 
brawny  arms,  accustomed  to  wield  th- 
axe,  had  lent  their  aid  to  i  mighty 

and  feed  the  ravening  il:ime. 

It  was  kindled  on  a 

skirts  of  UK  ;ind  which  the  t: 

spread  their  On  a  j 

on  two  (  *   the  1)!  i  with  hi 

The  carpenter  sat  beside  him  wi\ 
—  more  literally  a  k 

thing,  for  tint  drum  ica*  On   a  li 

mound  • 
state,  Dick   and  in 

:ier.    their    . 
flou  Around 

beauty  of  the  s< 

by  a  de:  in  posed  of  p 

die-aged,  an  uvenile  adn;  The 

background  of  t;  ;hr 

monstrous  i 

forest  with  light  —  brk'i 
The  extreme  foreground  wa 
trunk  of  a  fallen   tree,  on  which   sat    our   fri- 
^he  artist,  delineating  the  whole  with 


THE   WEDDING   FESTIVITIES.  417 

ness  of  an  enthusiast  who  had  at  last  fallen  upon 
a  scene  truly  worthy  of  his  genius. 

How  Bounce  did  dance,  to  be  sure  !  How  the 
young  trappers  and  the  blooming  backwoods' 
maidens  did  whirl  and  bound,  on  heel  and  toe, 
and,  to  a  large  extent,  on  the  whole  sole  of  the 
foot !  Yes,  their  souls  were  in  the  work,  and 
their  spirits  too  ;  and  that  although  there  was 
not  a  drop  of  spirits  in  the  settlement.  Happily, 
owing  to  the  unaccountable  delay  of  a  provision- 
boat,  there  was  not  a  glass  of  "  fire-water "  in  the 
place  at  that  time.  The  whole  affair  was  got 
up,  carried  on,  and  concluded  on  tea.  It  was  a 
great  teetotal  gathering,  which  would  have  drawn 
tears  of  joy  from  the  heart  of  Father  Matthew 
and  all  his  successors,  whether  Romanist  or 
Protestant,  had  they  witnessed  it. 

Yet  the  excitement  was  tremendous.  The 
Wild  Man  of  the  West,  strange  to  say,  and, 
owing  to  some  peculiar  contradictoriness  of 
character  which  was  unaccountable,  was  almost 
the  only  sane  man  of  the  whole  party.  He  flung 
himself  on  the  ground  beside  his  wife,  and  lock- 
ing his  arm  round  the  tough  root  of  a  pine-tree 
refused  to  budge  from  the  spot.  As  the  united 
efforts  of  all  the  men  who  could  lay  hold  of  him 
at  one  time  failed  to  root  him  up,  he  was  suffered 
to  lie  there  and  amuse  himself  by  watching  the 
dancers,  looking  up  occasionally  at  Mary's  blue 


418  THE   WILD    MA  ilB   WB8T. 

eyes,  and  playing  with  such  of  :  -  aa 

he  could  attract  within  the  reach  <  iong 

arm. 

As  for   March    Marstoi,,  he 
ever  he  had  been  so  in  his  lile  !    He  d 
all  the   girls,  and  \vr  .th  all  the  in 

played  hide-ami-  hall  the  bo;. 

terni/ed  with  all   tin-  old  people,  and  ch:ts.-d  nil 
the  dogs,  an  ,  all 

the  cats.     Yet,  although  he  did  all   this.  In* 
not  neglect  the  vision   in   le  no  ma., 

of  me;',: 

Long  before  th 

jovial    j  ;iik   a    parting   c. 

and,  dispersing 
field  in  ])• 

Now,  dc  ijj  of  sa<i 

\ve  write  —  all   : 
make  th 

ik  to  you. 

our  tale  has  :  k>M.     E  D  in 

hand  to  \vri;  uf  our  h 

and  his  fri-  in  first  to  1 

have  had  to  prepare  pens,  ink,  and   pap< 
work  equal  in  size  to  the  "Encyclopedia    B 
tannica."    We  have  detailed  one  or  t 
in  theii  wild  career.     What  they  did,  an 
and  saw  in   after  years,  must  be  left  to  fu: 
historians,   or  to  the  imagination    of   r< 


CONCLUSION.  4  1  9 

readers.  This  only. will  we  say  in  conclusion, 
that  of  all  the  men  who  dwelt  in  Pine  Point 
settlement,  for  many  years  after  the  events  nar- 
rated in  these  pages,  the  kindest,  the  \\  i 
the  gentlest,  the  heartiest,  the  wildest,  and  the 
most  courageous,  was  —  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West. 


THE     END 


YB  72746 


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BIS? 


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